Brasrjr 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2016 


https://archive.org/details/angelinhousebetrOOpatm 


THE 


ANGEL  IN  THE  HOUSE 


THE  BETROTHAL 


Par  la  grace  infinie,  Dieu  les  mist  au  monde  ensemble. 

Rousier  des  Dames . 


BOSTON: 

TICKNOR  AND  FIELDS. 

M.DCCC.LXIV. 


AW 


tVT  ‘ 


:ja 


■_V  W*V„  ...k  . s 

7W  ,4  v H 


■rr 

\ i 


THE  WRITER  OF  THIS  POEM 

inscribes  it 


TO  HIS  DAUGHTER  EMILY. 


St 


* 


' 


CONTENTS. 

Page 

Prologue  n 

I.  The  Cathedral  Close 19 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  Love’s  Reality 21 

2.  Love’s  Immortality 22 

3.  The  Poet’s  Confidence 23 

4.  The  Poet’s  Humility 24 

5.  The  Sentences 25 

Idyl  I.  The  Cathedral  Close 27 

II.  Mary  and  Mildred 35 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Paragon 37 

2.  The  Sentences 43 

Idyl  II.  Mary  and  Mildred 45 

III.  Honoria 51 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Lover 53 

2.  The  Sentences 58 

Idyl  III.  Honoria  59 


Contents , 


via 

Page 

IV.  The  Morning  Call 65 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Rose  of  the  World 67 

2.  The  Tribute 70 

3.  The  Sentences 71 

Idyl  IV.  The  Morning  Call 73 

V.  The  Violets 77 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Parallel 79 

2.  The  Sentences 84 

Idyl  V.  The  Violets  . . . . .k 85 

VI.  The  Dean 91 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  Frost  in  Harvest 93 

2.  Love  Justified 95 

3.  Perfect  Love  rare 96 

4.  The  Sentences 98 

Idyl  VI.  The  Dean 99 

VII.  ^Etna  and  the  Moon 105 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Queen 107 

2.  The  Sentences no 

Idyl  VII.  ^tna  and  the  Moon in 

VIII.  Sarum  Plain 117 

The  Accompaniments.  » 


Contents. 


IX 


Page 

1.  Present  Good  contemned 119 

2.  The  Revelation 120 

3.  Love  in  Idleness 121 

4.  The  Tempest 122 

5.  Love  in  Tears .....  123 

6.  The  Sentences 124 

Idyl  VIII.  Sarum  Plain • 125 

IX.  The  Railway 131 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Miscreant 133 

2.  The  Wife’s  Tragedy 135 

3.  The  Sentences 137 

Idyl  IX.  The  Railway 139 

X.  Going  to  Church 145 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Gracious  Chivalry 147 

2.  Love  Liberal 150 

3.  The  Sentences 153 

Idyl  X.  Going  to  Church 155 

XI.  The  Ball 163 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Daughter  of  Eve 165 

2.  The  Sentences 169 

Idyl  XI.  The  Ball 17 1 


X 


Contents. 


Page 

XII.  The  Abdication 177 

The  Accompaniments. 

1.  The  Chace 179 

2.  The  Sentences 185 

Idyl  XII.  The  Abdication 187 

The  Epilogue 195 


PROLOGUE. 


THE  PROLOGUE. 


1\  yTINE  is  no  winged  horse  to  gain 
xt  A « The  region  of  the  spheral  chime 
“ He  does  but  drag  a rumbling  wain, 
“Cheer’d  by  the  silver  bells  of  rhyme . 
“And  if,  at  Fame’s  bewitching  note, 

“ My  homely  Pegasus  pricks  an  ear, 

“ The  world’s  cart-collar  hugs  his  throat, 

“ And  he’s  too  wise  to  kick  or  rear.” 
Thus  ever  answer’d  Vaughan  his  wife. 
Who,  more  than  he,  desired  his  fame; 
But  secretly  his  thoughts  were  rife 
How  for  her  sake  to  earn  a name. 


H 


The  Prologue. 


With  College  laurels  three  times  crown’d, 
And  other  annual  honours  won, 

If  he  but  chose  to  be  renown’d, 

He  might,  he  had  little  doubt,  she  none  : 
And,  in  a loftier  phrase,  he  talk’d 
With  her  upon  their  Wedding-Day, 

While  thro’  the  new-mown  meads  they  walk’d, 
Their  children  shouting  by  the  way : 

“ Not  careless  of  the  gift  of  song, 

“ Nor  out  of  love  with  noble  fame, 

“ I,  meditating  much  and  long 

“ What  I should  sing,  how  win  a name, 

“ Considering  well  what  theme  unsung, 

“ What  reason  worth  the  cost  of  rhyme, 

“ Remains  to  loose  the  Poet’s  tongue 
“In  these  last  days,  the  dregs  of  time, 

“ Learn  that  to  me,  though  born  so  late, 

“ There  does,  beyond  desert,  befall 
“ (May  my  great  fortune  make  me  great !) 

“ The  first  of  themes  sung  last  of  all. 


The  Prologue.  15 

“In  green  and  undiscover’d  ground, 

“ Yet  near  where  many  others  sing, 

“ I have  the  very  well-head  found 

“ Whence  gushes  the  Pierian  Spring.” 
Then  she  : “ What  is  it,  Dear?  The  Life 
“ Of  Arthur,  or  Jerusalem’s  Fall  ? ” 
“Neither:  your  gentle  self,  my  wife, 
“Yourself,  and  love  that’s  all  in  all. 

“ And  if  I faithfully  proclaim 

“ Of  these  the  exceeding  worthiness, 

“ Surely,  the  sweetest  wreath  of  Fame 
“ Shall,  to  your  hope,  my  brows  caress ; 

“ And  if,  by  virtue  of  my  choice 

“ Of  the  most  bosom-touching  theme 
“ That  ever  tuned  a poet’s  voice, 

“ I live,  as  now  I dare  to  dream, 

“ To  be  delight  to  future  days, 

“ And  into  silence  only  cease 
“With  those  great  Bards  who  shared  their  bays 
“ With  Laura  and  with  Beatrice, 


i6 


The  Prologue. 


“Imagine,  Love,  how  learned  men 
“ Will  deep-conceived  devices  find, 

“ Beyond  the  purpose  and  the  ken 
“ Of  the  old  Poet’s  simple  mind  ! 

“You,  Sweet,  his  Mistress,  Wife,  and  Muse, 
“ Were  you  for  mortal  Woman  meant? 

“ Your  praises  give  a hundred  clues 
“To  mythological  intent ! 

“ And,  severing  thus  the  truth  from  trope, 
“In  you  the  Commentators  see, 

“ Some  Faith,  some  Charity,  some  Hope, 

“ Some,  wiser,  think  you  all  the  three. 

“ I press  your  arm  ! These  are  the  meads 
“In  which  we  pass  our  peaceful  days; 

“ There  Avon  runs,  now  hid  with  reeds, 

“ Now  brightly  brimming  pebbly  bays  ; 

“ Those  are  our  children’s  songs  that  come 
“ With  bells  and  bleatings  of  the  sheep  ; 

“ And  there,  in  yonder  happy  home, 

“We  thrive  on  mortal  food  and  sleep.” 


The  Prologue.  1 7 

She  laugh’d.  How  proud  she  always  was 
To  see  how  proud  he  was  of  her ! 

Then,  arguing  high  artistic  laws, 

Long  did  they  o’er  the  plan  confer. 

’Twas  fix’d,  with  much  on  both  sides  said, 
The  Song  should  have  no  incidents, 

They  are  so  dull,  and  pall,  twice  read : 

Its  scope  should  be  the  heart’s  events : 
Their  Salisbury,  for  the  verse  unfit, 

They  settled  last  should  Sarum  be ; 

And,  not  to  wake  their  neighbour’s  wit, 

He  Felix,  and  Honoria  she. 

His  purpose  with  performance  crown’d, 

To  her,  kind  critic,  he  rehears’d, 

When  next  their  Wedding-Day  came  round, 
His  leisure’s  labour,  “ Book  the  First.” 


2 


I. 


THE  CATHEDRAL  CLOSE. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

Love's  Reality. 

T WALK,  I trust,  with  open  eyes: 

I’ve  travell’d  half  my  worldly  course ; 
And  in  the  way  behind  me  lies 
Much  vanity  and  some  remorse ; 

I’ve  lived  to  feel  how  pride  may  part 
Spirits  tho’  match’d  like  hand  and  glove; 
I’ve  blush’d  for  love’s  abode,  the  heart, 

But  have  not  disbelieved  in  love  ; 

And  love  is  my  reward ; for  now, 

When  most  of  deadening  time  complain, 
The  myrtle  is  green  upon  my  brow, 

Its  odour  sweet  within  my  brain. 


22 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

Love’s  Immortality . 

T T OW  vilely  ’twere  to  misdeserve 
-*■  The  Poet’s  gift  of  perfect  speech. 
In  song  to  explore,  with  trembling  nerve, 
The  limit  of  its  utmost  reach, 

Only  to  sound  the  unworthy  praise 
Of  what  to-morrow  shall  not  be ; 

So  mocking  with  immortal  bays 
The  cross-bones  of  mortality ! 

I do  not  thus.  My  faith  is  fast 
That  all  the  loveliness  I sing 
Is  made  to  outsleep  the  mortal  blast, 

And  blossom  in  a better  Spring. 

My  creed  declares  the  ceaseless  pact 
Of  body  and  spirit,  soul  and  sense ; 

Nor  can  my  faith  accept  the  fact, 

And  fly  the  various  consequence. 


The  Accompaniments. 


23 


III. 

The  Poet’s  Confidence. 

? | "'HE  richest  realm  of  all  the  Earth 
*“■  Is  counted  still  a heathen  Land : 

Lo,  I,  like  Joshua,  now  go  forth 
To  give  it  into  Israel’s  hand. 

I’ve  girt  myself  with  thought  and  prayer, 
And  am  endow’d  with  strength,  like  him, 
Beyond  my  own,  and  will  not  fear 
The  false  and  foolish  Anakim ; 

Nor  will  I hearken  blame  or  praise; 

For  so  should  I dishonour  do 
To  that  sweet  Power  by  which  these  Lays 
Alone  are  lovely,  good  and  true ; 

Nor  credence  to  the  world’s  cries  give, 
Which  ever  preach  and  still  prevent 
Pure  passion’s  high  prerogative 
To  make  not  follow  precedent. 


24 


The  Accompaniments. 


IV. 

T ’he  Poet’s  Humility. 

\T OR  verse,  nor  art,  nor  plot,  nor  plan, 

” Nor  aught  of  mine  here’s  worth  a toy 
Quit  praise  and  blame,  and,  if  you  can, 

Do,  Critic,  for  the  nonce,  enjoy. 

Moving  but  as  the  feelings  move, 

I run,  or  loiter  with  delight, 

Or  stop  to  mark  where  gentle  Love 

Persuades  the  soul  from  height  to  height. 
Yet,  know,  that,  though  my  words  are  gay 
As  David’s  dance,  which  Michal  scorn’d. 
If  rightly  you  peruse  the  Lay, 

You  shall  be  sweetly  help’d  and  warn’d. 


The  Accompaniments. 


25 


The  Sentences. 


1. 


T OVE,  kiss’d  by  Wisdom,  wakes  twice 
^ Love, 

And  Wisdom  is,  through  loving,  wise : 
Let  Dove  and  Snake,  and  Snake  and  Dove, 
This  Wisdom’s  be,  that  Love’s  device. 


2. 

’Tis  truth  (although  this  truth’s  a star 
Too  deep-enskied  for  all  to  see}, 
As  Poets  of  grammar,  Lovers  are 
The  well-heads  of  morality. 


26 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

“ Keep  measure  in  love  ? ” More  light  befall 
Thy  sanctity,  and  make  it  less ! 

Be  sure  I will  not  love  at  all 

Where  I may  not  love  with  excess. 


THE  BETROTHAL. 


IDYL  I. 

THE  CATHEDRAL  CLOSE. 


1. 

/^\NCE  more  I came  to  Sarum  Close, 
^ With  joy  half  memory  half  desire, 
And  breathed  the  sunny  wind  that  rose 
And  blew  the  shadows  o’er  the  Spire, 

And  toss’d  the  lilac’s  scented  plumes, 

And  sway’d  the  chestnut’s  thousand  cones. 


28 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


And  fill’d  my  nostrils  with  perfumes, 

And  shaped  the  clouds  in  w'aifs  and  zones 
And  wafted  down  the  serious  strain 
Of  Sarum  bells,  when,  true  to  time, 

I reach’d  the  Dean’s  with  heart  and  brain 
That  trembled  to  the  trembling  chime. 

2. 

’Twas  half  my  home  six  years  ago  : 

The  six  years  had  not  alter’d  it : 

Red-brick  and  ashlar,  long  and  low, 

With  dormers  and  with  oriels  lit ; 
Geranium,  lychnis,  rose  array’d 

The  windows,  all  wide  open  thrown ; 

And  some  one  in  the  Study  play’d 

The  Wedding-March  of  Mendelssohn. 
And  there  it  was  I last  took  leave : 

’T was  Christmas  : I remember’d  now 
The  cruel  girls,  who  feign’d  to  grieve, 

T ook  all  the  Christmas  down ; and  how 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


29 


The  laurel  into  blazes  woke 

The  fire,  lighting  the  large,  low  room, 

A dim,  rich  lustre  of  old  oak 

And  crimson  velvet’s  glowing  gloom. 

3- 

No  change  had  touch’d  my  Guardian.  Kind, 
By  widowhood  more  than  winters  bent. 
And  settled  in  a cheerful  mind, 

As  still  foreboding  heaven’s  content. 

Well  might  he  mourn,  from  her  delay’d! 

I yet  recall’d  her  air,  her  walk, 

Her  laugh,  mere  love ; in  all  she  said, 

I heard  a peaceful  seraph  talk. 

She  seem’d  expressly  sent  below 
To  teach  our  erring  minds  to  see 
The  rhythmic  change  of  time’s  swift  flow 
As  part  of  calm  eternity. 

Her  life,  all  honour,  observed,  with  awe 
Which  cross  experience  could  not  mar, 


3° 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


The  fiction  of  the  Christian  Law 
That  all  men  honourable  are  ; 

And  so  her  smile  seem’d  to  confer 
At  once  high  flattery  and  reproof, 

And  self-regard,  inspired  by  her, 

Grew  courtly  in  its  own  behoof. 

The  years,  so  far  from  doing  her  wrong. 
Anointed  her  with  gracious  balm, 

And  made  her  brows  more  and  more  young 
With  wreaths  of  amaranth  and  palm. 

4- 

Was  this  her  eldest,  Honor,  the  prude 
Who  would  not  let  me  pull  the  swing ; 
Who,  kiss’d  at  Christmas,  call’d  me  rude, 
And  sobb’d  alone,  and  would  not  sing  ? 
How  changed  ! In  shape  no  more  a Grace, 
But  Venus  : milder  than  the  dove  : 

Her  mother’s  air ; her  Norman  face ; 

Her  large  sweet  eyes,  clear  lakes  of  love. 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


31 


Mary  I knew.  In  former  time 

Ailing  and  pale,  she  thought  that  bliss 
Was  only  for  a better  clime, 

And,  heavenly  overmuch,  scorn’d  this. 

I,  rash  with  theories  of  the  right, 

Which  stretch’d  the  tether  of  my  Creed, 
But  did  not  break  it,  held  delight 
Half  discipline.  We  disagreed. 

She  told  the  Dean  I wanted  grace. 

Now  she  was  kindest  of  the  three, 

And  two  wild  roses  deck’d  her  face. 

And,  what,  was  this  my  Mildred,  she 
To  herself  and  all  a sweet  surprise? 

My  Pet,  who  romp’d  and  roll’d  a hoop  ? 

I wonder’d  where  those  daisy  eyes 

Had  found  their  touching  curve  and  droop. 

5- 

Unmannerly  times  ! But  now  we  sat 
Stranger  than  strangers  ; till  I caught 


32 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


And  answer’d  Mildred’s  smile ; and  that 
Spread  to  the  rest,  and  freedom  brought. 
The  Dean  talk’d  little,  but  look’d  on, 

Of  three  such  daughters  justly  vain  : 

What  letters  they  had  had  from  Bonn  ! 

Said  Mildred ; and  I told  again 
How  the  Bonn  boys  besieged  the  house, 

In  fury  metaphysical, 

Because  I’d  proved  their  Doctor  Strauss 
A myth,  and  not  a man  at  all. 

By  Honor  I was  kindly  task’d 

To  explain  my  never  coming  down, 

’T wixt  terms,  from  Cambridge ; Mary  ask’d 
W ere  Kant  and  Goethe  yet  outgrown  ? 
And,  pleased,  we  talk’d  the  old  days  o’er  ; 

And,  parting,  I for  pleasure  sigh’d. 

To  be  there  as  a friend,  (since  more,) 

Seem’d  then,  seems  still,  excuse  for  pride ; 
For  something  that  abode  endued 
With  temple-like  repose,  an  air 


The  Cathedral  Close. 


33 


Of  life’s  kind  purposes  pursued 

With  order’d  freedom  sweet  and  fair. 

A tent  pitch’d  in  a world  not  right 
It  seem’d,  whose  inmates,  every  one, 

On  tranquil  faces  bore  the  light 
Of  duties  beautifully  done, 

And  humbly,  though  they  had  few  peers, 
Kept  their  own  laws,  which  seem’d  to  be 
The  fair  sum  of  six  thousand  years’ 
Traditions  of  civility. 


3 


II. 

MARY  AND  MILDRED. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 


T ’he  Paragon. 


i. 

T T LHEN  I behold  the  reckless  brook 
* " That  casts  itself  from  some  tall  crag. 
Leaving  its  shade  along  the  rock, 

And  wavering  lower,  like  a flag ; 

When  I behold  the  skies  aloft, 

Passing  the  pageantry  of  dreams ; 

The  cloud  whose  bosom,  cygnet-soft, 

A couch  for  nuptial  Juno  seems  ; 

When  I behold  the  mountains  bright ; 

The  shadowy  vales  with  feeding  herds, 


% 


38  The  Accompaniments. 

I from  my  lyre  the  music  smite, 

Nor  want  for  justly  matching  words : 

All  powers  of  the  sea  and  air ; 

All  interests  of  hill  and  plain, 

I so  can  sing,  in  seasons  fair, 

That  who  hath  felt  may  feel  again ; 

Nay  more,  the  gracious  Muses  bless 
At  times  my  tongue  until  I can, 

With  moving  emphasis,  express 
The  likeness  of  the  perfect  man. 

Elated  oft  by  such  free  songs, 

I think  with  utterance  free  to  raise 
That  Hymn  for  which  the  whole  world  longs, 
A worthy  Hymn  in  Woman’s  praise; 

A Hymn  bright-noted  like  a bird’s, 

Arousing  these  song-sleepy  times 
With  rhapsodies  of  perfect  words, 

Ruled  by  returning  kiss  of  rhymes. 

But  when  I look  on  her  and  hope 
To  tell  with  joy  what  I admire, 


The  Accompaniments.  39 

My  thoughts  lie  cramp’d  in  narrow  scope, 

Or  in  the  feeble  birth  expire : 

No  skill’d  complexity  of  speech, 

No  heart-felt  phrase  of  tenderest  fan. 

No  liken’d  excellence  can  reach 
Her,  the  most  excellent  of  all, 

The  best  half  of  creation’s  best, 

Its  heart  to  feel,  its  eye  to  see, 

The  crown  and  complex  of  the  rest, 

Its  aim  and  its  epitome. 

Nay,  might  I utter  my  conceit, 

’Twere  after  all  a vulgar  song, 

For  she’s  so  simply,  subtly  sweet, 

My  deepest  rapture  does  her  wrong; 

My  thoughts,  that,  singing,  lark-like  soar, 
Soaring  perceive  they’ve  still  misprized. 
And  still  forebode  her  beauty  more 
Than  can  perceived  be,  or  surmised. 

Yet  is  it  now  my  chosen  task 

To  sing  her  worth  as  Maid  and  Wife; 


4°  The  Accompaniments. 

And  were  such  post  to  seek  I’d  ask 
To  live  her  Laureate  all  my  life. 

On  wings  of  love  uplifted  free, 

And  by  her  gentleness  made  great, 

I’d  teach  how  noble  man  should  be 
T o match  with  such  a lovely  mate : 

And  then  in  her  would  move  the  more 
The  woman’s  wish  to  be  desired, 

(By  praise  increased,)  till  both  should  soar, 
With  blissful  emulations  fired. 

And,  as  geranium,  pink,  or  rose 

Is  thrice  itself  through  power  of  art, 

So  might  my  happy  skill  disclose 
New  fairness  even  in  her  fair  heart; 

Until  that  churl  should  nowhere  be 
Who  bent  not,  awed,  before  the  throne 
Of  her  affecting  majesty, 

So  meek,  so  much  unlike  our  own ; 

Until  (for  who  may  hope  too  much 

From  her  who  wields  the  powers  of  love !) 


The  Accompaniments. 


4i 


Our  lifted  lives  at  last  should  touch 
That  lofty  goal  to  which  they  move ; 
Until  we  find,  as  darkness  rolls 
Far  off,  and  fleshly  mists  dissolve, 

That  nuptial  contrasts  are  the  poles 

On  which  the  heavenly  spheres  revolve. 


2. 

Me  to  these  happy  notes  of  praise 
Not  only  Woman’s  graces  stir: 

Myself  I never  seem  to  raise 
So  much  as  when  I honour  her : 

For  while  my  songs  so  various  run, 

There  lives  before  my  constant  mind 
An  image,  time-endear’d,  of  one 
Who  is  to  me  all  womankind  : 

Honoria  call  her : She  confers 

Bright  honour  when  she  breathes  my  name : 
Birth’s  blazon’d  patents,  shown  with  her’s, 
Are  falsified  and  put  to  shame ; 


42  The  Accompaniments. 

The  fount  of  honour  is  her  smile ; 

(I  speak  but  as  I feel  and  think,) 
Yet  pride  consumes  me  not  the  while 
I thence,  with  thirst  unsated,  drink : 
For  as  a Queen,  who  may  not  find 
Her  peer  in  all  the  common  Earth., 
Submits  her  meek  and  royal  mind, 
Espousing  one  of  subject  birth, 

All  barter  of  like  gain  above, 

She  raised  me  to  her  noble  place, 
And  made  my  lordship  of  her  love 
The  humbling  gift  of  her  free  grace. 


The  Accompaniments. 


43 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

“ T>EAUTY’S  but  flesh  and  blood,  Sir:  fye ! 

“ Read  here : immortal  beauty  drink  ! ” 
“ Just  what  I thirst  for  ; ” I reply, 

“ But  what’s  this  ? Rags  and  Printer’s  ink  1 ” 

2. 

He  hates  not  Day  whose  grateful  sight 
Adores  the  Sun’s  reflected  power. 

But  loves  acceptably  the  Light, 

Loving  its  colours  in  the  flower. 


IDYL  II. 


MARY  AND  MILDRED. 

1. 

/^\NE  morning,  after  Church,  I walk’d 
Alone  with  Mary  on  the  Lawn, 
And  felt  myself,  howe’er  we  talk’d, 

To  high  thoughts  delicately  drawn  ; 
And,  when  she,  gladden’d,  found  I knew 
More  of  her  peace  than  she’d  supposed. 
Our  confidences  heavenwards  blew, 

Like  fox-glove  buds,  in  pairs  disclosed. 
Our  former  faults  did  we  confess ; 

Our  ancient  feud  was  more  than  heal’d; 


46 


Mary  and  Mildred. 


And,  with  the  woman’s  eagerness 
For  amity  full  sign’d  and  seal’d, 

She,  offering  up  for  sacrifice 

Her  heart’s  reserve,  brought  out  to  show 
Some  verses,  made  when  she  was  ice 
To  all  but  Heaven,  six  years  ago : 

Since  happier  grown.  I took  and  read 
The  neat-writ  lines.  She,  void  of  guile. 
Too  late  repenting,  blush’d,  and  said, 

I must  not  think  about  the  style. 

2. 

“ Day  after  day,  until  to-day, 

Imaged  its  fellows  gone  before, 

The  same  dull  task,  the  weary  way, 

The  weakness  pardon’d  o’er  and  o’er, 

The  thwarted  thirst,  too  faintly  felt, 

For  joy’s  well-nigh  forgotten  life, 

The  impatient  heart,  which,  when  I knelt, 
Made  of  my  worship  barren  strife. 


Mary  and  Mildred. 


47 


Ah,  whence  to-day’s  so  sweet  release ; 

This  clearance  light  of  all  my  care ; 

This  conscience  free,  this  fertile  peace, 

These  softly  folded  wings  of  prayer ; 

This  calm  and  more  than  conquering  love. 
With  which  the  tempter  dares  not  cope ; 

This  joy  that  lifts  no  glance  above, 

For  faith  too  sure,  too  sweet  for  hope. 

O,  happy  time,  too  happy  change, 

It  will  not  live,  though  fondly  nurst ! 

Sweet  Day,  which  soon  will  seem  as  strange 
As  now  the  Night  which  seems  dispersed, 

Adieu ! But,  while  my  heart  is  warm’d, 
Some  heavenly  promise  let  me  make : 

Strong  are  those  vows  and  well  perform’d 
Which,  at  such  times,  we  undertake.” 


48 


Mary  and  Mildred. 


3- 

She  from  a rose-tree  shook  the  blight : 

And  well  she  knew  that  I knew  well 
Her  grace  with  silence  to  requite ; 

And  so  we  obey’d  the  luncheon-bell. 

We  laugh’d  at  Mildred’s  laugh,  which  made 
All  melancholy  wrong : its  mood 
Such  sweet  self-confidence  display’d. 

So  full  a sense  of  present  good. 

Her  very  faults  my  fancy  fired ; 

My  loving  will,  so  thwarted,  grew ; 

And,  bent  on  worship,  I admired 
All  that  she  was,  with  partial  view. 

And  yet,  when,  as  to-day,  her  smile 
Was  prettiest,  I could  not  but  note 
How  Honor,  less  admired,  the  while 
Was  lovelier,  though  from  love  remote. 


Mary  and  Mildred. 


49 


4- 

We  who  are  married,  let  us  own 
A bachelor’s  chief  thought  in  life 
Is,  or  the  fool’s  not  worth  a groan, 

To  win  a woman  for  his  wife. 

I kept  the  custom.  I confess 
I never  went  to  Ball  or  Fete 
Or  Show,  but  in  pursuit  express 
Of  my  predestinated  mate ; 

And  still  to  me,  who  still  kept  sight 
Of  the  sweet  chance  upon  the  cards, 
Each  Beauty  blossom’d  in  the  light 
Of  tender  personal  regards ; 

And,  in  the  records  of  my  breast, 
Red-letter’d,  eminently  fair, 

Stood  sixteen,  who,  beyond  the  rest, 
Up  to  that  time  had  been  my  care  : 
At  Berlin  three,  one  at  St.  Cloud, 

At  Chatteris,  near  Cambridge,  one. 


4 


£o  Mary  and  Mildred. 

At  Ely  four,  in  London  two, 

Two  at  Bowness,  in  Paris  none, 

And,  last  and  best,  in  Sarum  three  : 

But  dearest  of  the  whole  fair  troop, 

In  judgment  of  the  moment,  she 

Whose  daisy  eyes  had  learn’d  to  droop. 


III. 


HONORIA. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

T ’he  Lover. 

l. 

TI  THEN  ripen’d  time  and  chasten’d  will 
” * Have  stretch’d  and  tuned  for  love’s 
accords 

The  five-string’d  lyre  oflife,  until 
It  vibrates  with  the  wind  of  words  ; 

And  “ Woman,”  “ Lady,”  “ She,”  and  “ Her  ” 
Are  names  for  perfect  Good  and  Fair, 

And  unknown  maidens,  talk’d  of,  stir 
His  thoughts  with  reverential  care  ; 

He  meets,  by  heavenly  chance  express, 

His  destined  wife : some  hidden  hand 


54 


The  Accompaniments. 


Unveils  to  him  that  loveliness 
Which  others  cannot  understand. 
No  songs  of  love,  no  summer  dreams 
Did  e’er  his  longing  fancy  fire 
With  vision  like  to  this : she  seems 
In  all  things  better  than  desire. 

His  merits  in  her  presence  grow, 

To  match  the  promise  in  her  eyes, 
And  round  her  happy  footsteps  blow 
The  authentic  airs  of  Paradise. 

For  love  of  her  he  cannot  sleep  ; 

Her  beauty  haunts  him  all  the  night 
It  melts  his  heart,  it  makes  him  weep 
For  wonder,  worship,  and  delight. 

2. 

To  her  account  does  he  transfer 
His  pride,  a base  and  barren  root 
In  him,  but,  grafted  into  her, 

The  bearer  of  Hesperian  fruit. 

He  dresses,  dances  well:  he  knows 
A small  weight  turns  a heavy  scale  : 


The  Accompaniments.  55 

Who’d  have  her  care  for  him,  and  shows 
Himself  no  care,  deserves  to  fail : 

The  least  is  well,  yet  nothing’s  light 
In  all  the  lover  does ; for  he 
Who  pitches  hope  at  such  a height 
Will  do  all  things  with  dignity. 

She  is  so  perfect,  true  and  pure, 

Her  virtue  all  virtue  so  endears, 

That,  often,  when  he  thinks  of  her, 

Life’s  meanness  fills  his  eyes  with  tears. 
She’s  far  too  lovely  to  be  wrong : 

Black,  if  she  pleases,  shall  be  white  : 
Prerogative  ties  cavil’s  tongue : 

Being  a Queen  her  wrong  is  right : 

Defect  super-perfection  is : 

Her  great  perfections  make  him  grieve, 
Refusing  him  the  bliss  of  bliss, 

Which  is  to  give,  and  not  receive. 

Her  graces  make  him  rich,  and  ask 
No  guerdon:  this  imperial  style 


5^6  The  Accompaniments. 

Affronts  him : he  disdains  to  bask, 

The  pensioner  of  her  priceless  smile. 

He  prays  for  some  hard  thing  to  do, 

Some  work  of  fame  and  labour  immense 
To  stretch  the  languid  bulk  and  thew 
Of  love’s  fresh-born  magnipotence. 

3* 

O,  paradox  of  love,  he  longs, 

Most  humble  when  he  most  aspires, 

To  suffer  scorn  and  cruel  wrongs 
From  her  he  worships  and  desires : 

And  yet  his  passion,  if  need  be, 

Would  spend  all  on  a single  kiss, 

And  call  it  great  economy. 

Counting  the  honour,  not  the  bliss : 

A trifle  serves  for  his  relief, 

A trifle  turns  him  sick  and  pale ; 

And  yet  his  pleasure  and  his  grief 
Are  both  on  a majestic  scale. 


The  Accompaniments.  57 

No  smallest  boon  were  bought  too  dear, 
Though  barter’d  for  his  love-sick  life ; 

Yet  trusts  he,  with  undaunted  cheer, 

To  vanquish  heaven  and  call  her  wife. 

He  notes  how  Queens  of  sweetness  still 
Neglect  their  crowns  and  stoop  to  mate: 
How,  self-consign’d  with  lavish  will, 

They  ask  but  love  proportionate ; 

How  swift  pursuit  by  small  degrees, 

Love’s  tactic,  works  like  miracle; 

How  valour,  clothed  in  courtesies, 

Brings  down  the  haughtiest  citadel ; 

And  therefore,  though  he  merits  not 
To  kiss  the  braid  upon  her  skirt, 

His  hope,  discouraged  ne’er  a jot, 

Out-soars  all  possible  desert : 

Resistance  only  makes  him  gay : 

The  fiercer  fight  the  fairer  she : 

In  vain  her  distance  says  him  nay : 

Hope,  desperate  grown,  feigns  certainty. 


5 8 The  Accompaniments. 

II. 

The  Sentences. 

1. 

npHE  foul  in  heart  and  false  in  mind 
Can  never  taste  the  sweets  of  love, 
Nor  in  the  world’s  fair  mistress  find 
What  Love  finds  in  her  scarf  or  glove. 

2. 

Thou  shalt  not  scale  Love’s  height  divine 
By  burrowing  at  its  earthly  base, 

Nor  call  the  priceless  jewel  thine, 

Who  car’st  but  to  affront  the  case ! 

3- 

The  Wrong  is  made  and  measured  by 
The  Right’s  inverted  dignity : 
Adulterous  heart ! as  love  is  high 
So  low  in  hell  thy  bed  shall  be. 


IDYL  III. 


H O N O R I A. 


i. 

T)  ESTLESS  and  sick  of  long  exile 

From  those  sweet  friends,  I rode  to  see 
The  church-repairs ; and,  after  awhile, 
Waylaying  the  Dean,  was  ask’d  to  tea. 
They  introduced  the  cousin  Fred 

I’d  heard  of,  Honor’s  favorite ; grave, 
Dark,  handsome,  bluff,  but  gently  bred, 

And  with  an  air  of  the  salt  wave. 

He  stared,  and  gave  his  hand,  and  I 

Stared  too : then  donn’d  we  smiles,  the 
shrouds 


6o 


Honoria. 


Of  ire,  best  hid  while  she  was  by, 

A sweet  moon  ’twixt  her  lighted  clouds. 

2. 

Whether  this  Cousin  was  the  cause 
I know  not,  but  I seem’d  to  see, 

The  first  time  then,  how  fair  she  was, 

How  much  the  fairest  of  the  three. 

Each  stopp’d  to  let  the  other  go; 

But  he,  being  time-bound,  rose  the  first. 
Stay’d  he  in  Sarum  long?  If  so 
I hoped  to  see  him  at  the  Hurst. 

No : he  had  call’d  here,  on  his  way 
To  Portsmouth,  where  the  Arrogant, 
His  ship,  was ; and  should  leave  next  day, 
For  two  years’  cruise  in  the  Levant. 

I watch’d  her  face,  suspecting  germs 
Of  love : her  farewell  show’d  me  plain 
She  loved,  on  the  majestic  terms 

That  she  should  not  be  loved  again. 


Honoria. 


61 


And  so  her  cousin,  parting,  felt, 

For  all  his  rough  sea  face  grew  red. 
Compassion  did  my  malice  melt : 

Then  went  I home  to  a restless  bed. 

I,  who  admired  her  too,  could  see 
His  infinite  remorse  at  this 
Great  mystery,  that  she  should  be 
So  beautiful,  yet  not  be  his, 

And,  pitying,  long’d  to  plead  his  part ; 

But  scarce  could  tell,  so  strange  my  whim. 
Whether  the  weight  upon  my  heart 
Was  sorrow  for  myself  or  him. 

3- 

She  was  all  mildness ; yet  ’twas  writ 
Upon  her  beauty  legibly, 

“ He  that’s  for  heaven  itself  unfit, 

“ Let  him  not  hope  to  merit  me.” 

And  such  a challenge,  quite  apart 

From  thoughts  of  love,  humbled,  and  thus 


62 


Honoria. 


To  sweet  repentance  moved  my  heart, 
And  made  me  more  magnanimous, 

And  led  me  to  review  my  life. 

Inquiring  where  in  aught  the  least. 

If  question  were  of  her  for  wife, 

111  might  be  mended,  hope  increased  : 
Not  that  I soar’d  so  far  above 

Myself,  as  this  great  hope  to  dare : 

And  yet  I half  foresaw  that  love 

Might  hope  where  reason  would  despair 

4- 

As  drowsiness  my  brain  relieved, 

A shrill  defiance  of  all  to  arms, 

Shriek’d  by  the  stable-cock,  received 
An  angry  answer  from  three  farms. 

And,  first,  I dreamt  that  I,  her  knight, 

A clarion’s  haughty  pathos  heard, 

And  rode  securely  to  the  fight, 

Cased  in  the  scarf  she  had  conferr’d ; 


Honor ia. 


63 


And  there,  the  bristling  lists  behind, 

Saw  many,  and  vanquish’d  all  I saw 
Of  her  unnumber’d  cousin-kind, 

In  Navy,  Army,  Church,  and  Law; 
Then  warriors,  stern  and  Norman-nosed, 
Seem’d  Sarum  choristers,  whose  song. 
Mix’d  with  celestial  grief,  disclosed 
More  joy  than  memory  can  prolong  ; 
And  phantasms  as  absurd  and  sweet 
Merged  each  in  each,  in  endless  chace. 
And  everywhere  I seem’d  to  meet 
The  haunting  fairness  of  her  face. 


IV. 

THE  MORNING  CALL. 


5 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Rose  of  the  World. 

l. 

T O,  when  the  Lord  made  North  and 
South 

And  sun  and  moon  ordained,  He, 
Forthbringing  each  by  word  of  mouth 
In  order  of  its  dignity, 

Did  man  from  the  crude  clay  express 
By  sequence,  and,  all  else  decreed, 

He  form’d  the  woman  ; nor  might  less 
Than  Sabbath  such  a work  succeed. 


68 


The  Accompaniments. 


2. 

And  still  with  favour  singled  out, 

Marr’d  less  than  man  by  mortal  Fall, 
Her  disposition  is  devout, 

Her  countenance  angelical ; 

No  faithless  thought  her  instinct  shrouds, 
But  fancy  chequers  settled  sense, 

Like  alteration  of  the  clouds 

On  noonday’s  azure  permanence ; 

Pure  courtesy,  composure,  ease, 

Declare  affections  nobly  fix’d, 

And  impulse  sprung  from  due  degrees 
Of  sense  and  spirit  sweetly  mix’d  ; 

Her  modesty,  her  chiefest  grace, 

The  cestus  clasping  Venus’  side, 

Is  potent  to  deject  the  face 

Of  him  who  would  affront  its  pride ; 
Wrong  dares  not  in  her  presence  speak, 
Nor  spotted  thought  its  taint  disclose 


The  Accompaniments.  69 

Under  the  protest  of  a cheek 

Outb ragging  Nature’s  boast  the  rose. 

In  mind  and  manners  how  discreet ! 

How  artless  in  her  very  art ; 

How  candid  in  discourse ; how  sweet 
The  concord  of  her  lips  and  heart ; 

How,  (not  to  call  true  instinct’s  bent 
And  woman’s  very  nature,  harm,) 

How  amiable  and  innocent 

Her  pleasure  in  her  power  to  charm ; 

How  humbly  careful  to  attract, 

Though  crown’d  with  all  the  soul  desires 

Connubial  aptitude  exact. 

Diversity  that  never  tires. 


7o 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Tribute. 

fk  TO  splendour  ’neath  the  sky’s  proud  dome 
^ But  serves  for  her  familiar  wear ; 

The  far-fetch’d  diamond  finds  its  home 
Flashing  and  smouldering  in  her  hair ; 

For  her  the  seas  their  pearls  reveal ; 

Art  and  strange  lands  her  pomp  supply 
With  purple,  chrome,  and  cochineal, 

Ochre,  and  lapis  lazuli ; 

The  worm  its  golden  woof  presents ; 

Whatever  runs,  flies,  dives,  or  delves. 

All  doff  for  her  their  ornaments, 

Which  suit  her  better  than  themselves ; 
And  all,  by  this  their  power  to  give 
Proving  her  right  to  take,  proclaim 
Her  beauty’s  clear  prerogative 
To  profit  so  by  Eden’s  blame. 


The  Accompaniments. 


7 


III. 

The  Sentences. 


I. 

T T OW  easy  it  is  to  keep  sin-free, 

•*-  How  hard  that  freedom  to  recall ! 
For  ’tis  the  heavenly  doom  that  we 

Forget  the  heavens  from  which  we  fall. 


2. 

What  holy  lives  we  all  should  live, 

Might  we  remember  joy  and  pain. 

Alas,  that  memory,  like  a sieve, 

Should  hold  the  chaff,  and  drop  the  grain 


IDYL  IV. 


THE  MORNING  CALL. 


1. 

T)Y  meekness  charm’d,  or  proud  to  allow 
“A  queenly  claim  to  live  admired, 

“ Full  many  a lady  has  ere  now 
“ My  apprehensive  fancy  fired, 

“And  woven  many  a transient  chain ; 

“ But  never  lady  like  to  this, 

“ Who  holds  me  as  yonder  weather-vane 
“ Is  held  by  yonder  clematis. 

“ She  seems  the  life  of  nature’s  powers : 

“ Her  beauty  is  the  genial  thought 


74 


The  Morning  Call. 


“ Which  makes  thesunshinebright;  the  flowers, 
“ But  for  their  hint  of  her,  were  nought.” 

2. 

A voice,  the  sweeter  for  the  grace 
Of  suddenness,  while  thus  I dream’d, 

“ Good-morning ! ” said  or  sang.  Her  face 
The  mirror  of  the  morning  seem’d. 

Her  sisters  in  the  garden  walk’d, 

And  would  I come  ? Across  the  Hall 
She  took  me ; and  we  laugh’d  and  talk’d 
About  the  Flower-show,  and  the  Ball. 
Their  pinks  had  won  a spade  for  prize : 

But  that  was  gallantly  withdrawn 
Fox  “Jones  on  Wiltshire  Butterflies:” 

How  rude ! And  so  we  paced  the  lawn, 
Close-cut,  and,  with  geranium-plots, 

A rival  glow  of  green  and  red ; 

Then  counted  sixty  apricots 

On  one  small  tree.  The  sweet  hour  sped ; 
And  I rode  slow  ’tward  home,  my  breast 
A load  of  joy  and  tender  care : 


The  Morning  Call. 


75 


And  this  delight,  which  life  oppress’d, 

To  fix’d  aims  grew,  that  ask’d  for  pray’r  : 
And  I reach’d  home,  where,  whip  in  hand 
And  soil’d  bank-notes  all  ready,  stood 
The  Farmer  who  farm’d  all  my  land, 

Except  the  little  Park  and  Wood. 

And,  with  the  accustom’d  compliment 
Of  talk,  and  beef,  and  frothing  beer, 

I,  my  own  steward,  took  my  rent, 

Three  hundred  pounds  for  half  the  year  : 
Our  witnesses  the  Maid  and  Groom, 

We  sign’d  the  lease  for  seven  years  more. 
And  bade  Good-day.  Then  to  my  room 
I went,  and  closed  and  lock’d  the  door, 
And  cast  myself  down  on  my  bed, 

And  there,  with  many  a blissful  tear, 

I vow’d  to  love  and  pray’d  to  wed 
The  Maiden  who  had  grown  so  dear ; 
Thank’d  God  who  had  set  her  in  my  path ; 
And  promised,  as  I hoped  to  win, 


76 


The  Morning  Call. 


I never  would  sully  my  faith 
By  the  least  selfishness  or  sin ; 

Whatever  in  her  sight  I’d  seem 
I’d  really  be;  I’d  never  blend 
With  my  delight  in  her  a dream 

’T would  change  her  cheek  to  comprehend; 
And,  if  she  wish’d  it,  I’d  prefer 
Another’s  to  my  own  success ; 

And  always  seek  the  best  for  her, 

With  unofficious  tenderness. 

3- 

Rising,  I breathed  a brighter  clime, 

And  found  myself  all  self  above, 

And,  with  a charity  sublime, 

Contemn’d  not  those  who  did  not  love ; 
And  I could  not  but  feel  that  then 
I shone  with  something  of  her  grace, 

And  went  forth  to  my  fellow  men 
My  commendation  in  my  face. 


y. 


THE  VIOLETS. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Parallel. 

1. 

T KNOW  not  how  to  her  it  may  seem, 
A Or  how  to  a perfect  judging  eye, 

But,  in  my  true  and  calm  esteem, 

Man  misdeserves  his  sweet  ally : 
Where  she  succeeds  with  cloudless  brow, 
In  common  and  in  holy  course. 

He  fails,  in  spite  of  prayer  and  vow, 

And  agonies  of  faith  and  force  : 

Or,  if  his  suit  with  Heaven  prevails 
To  righteous  life,  his  virtuous  deeds 


8o 


The  Accompaniments . 


Lack  beauty,  virtue’s  badge  : she  fails 
More  graciously  than  he  succeeds. 

Her  spirit,  compact  of  gentleness, 

If  Heaven  postpones  or  grants  her  pray’ 
Conceives  no  pride  in  its  success, 

And  in  its  failure  no  despair ; 

But  his,  enamour’d  of  its  hurt, 

Baffled,  blasphemes,  or,  not  denied, 
Crows  from  the  dunghill  of  desert, 

And  wags  its  ugly  wings  for  pride. 

He’s  never  young  nor  ripe ; she  grows 
More  infan'tine,  auroral,  mild  ; 

And  still  the  more  she  lives  and  knows 
The  lovelier  she’s  express’d  a child. 

Say  that  she  wants  the  will  of  man 

To  conquer  fame,  not  check’d  by  cross, 
Nor  moved  when  others  bless  or  ban; 

She  wants  but  what  to  have  were  loss ; 
Or  say  she  holds  no  seals  of  power, 

But  humbly  lives  her  life  at  school ; 


The  Accompaniments.  81 

Alas,  we  have  yet  to  hail  the  hour 

When  God  shall  clothe  the  b.est  with  rule. 
Or  say  she  wants  the  patient  brain 
To  track  shy  truth ; her  facile  wit 
At  that  which  he  hunts  down  with  pain 
Flies  straight,  and  does  exactly  hit : 

Nay,  though  she  were  half  what  she  is, 

He  twice  himself,  mere  love  alone, 

Her  special  crown,  as  truth  is  his, 

Gives  title  to  the  loftier  throne  : 

For  love  is  substance,  truth  the  form  : 

T ruth  without  love  were  less  than  nought ; 
But  blindest  love  is  sweet  and  warm, 

And  full  of  truth  not  shaped  by  thought : 
And  therefore  in  herself  she  stands 
Adorn’d  with  undeficient  grace, 

Her  happy  virtues  taking  hands, 

Each  smiling  in  another’s  face : 

So  dancing  round  the  Tree  of  Life, 

They  make  an  Eden  in  her  breast, 

6 


8 2 The  Accompaniments. 

Whilst  his,  disjointed  and  at  strife, 

Proud-thoughted,  do  not  bring  him  rest, 
But  ever  groan  and  gasp  for  dearth 
Of  that  in  her  with  which  they  agree, 
Like  rude  base  notes,  of  little  worth 
Till  married  to  their  melody. 

2. 

Her  privilege,  not  impotence, 

Exempts  her  from  the  work  of  man  : 
Humbling  his  proper  excellence, 

Jeanne  d’Arc  led  war’s  obstreperous  van : 
No  post  of  policy  or  pride 

Does  Heaven  from  her  holding  grudge : 
Miriam  and  Anna  prophesied, 

In  Israel  Deborah  was  judge; 

Countless  the  Christian  heroines 

Who’ve  blest  the  world,  and  still  do  bless 
The  praise  their  equal  courage  wins 

Counts  tenfold  through  their  tenderness ; 


The  Accompaniments.  8 

And,  ah,  sad  times  gone  by,  denied 
The  joyfullest  omen  ever  seen, 

The  full-grown  Lion’s  power  and  pride 
Led  by  the  soft  hands  of  a Queen. 

3- 

Yet,  lest  my  tender-thoughted  strain 

Should  seem  to  impugn  the  right  decree 
Of  Him  who  made  the  human  twain 
Conjoin’d  in  this  disparity, 

My  Song  declares  the  heavenly  art 

Which  crowns  her  wealth  with  his  defect. 
And,  in  love’s  high  exacting  mart, 

Pays  poor  desert  with  rich  respect ; 

And  makes  this  much  unequal  pair 
Well-match’d  in  all  that  love  requires, 

If  she’s  incomparably  fair, 

And  he  incomparably  admires. 


84 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Sentences. 

1. 

T OVE  in  the  Loved  his  likeness  loves, 
But  loves  the  lovely  difference  more, 
And  like  in  diverse  doubly  moves 

His  love  ’tward  each,  twice  loved  before. 


2. 

Of  all  the  love-producing  host 
Of  virtues  which  in  her  agree, 

’Tis  vanity  becomes  her  most, 

Perfecting  her  by  flattering  me. 

3- 

Fatal  in  force  yet  gentle  in  will, 

Her  power  makes,  not  defeats,  but  pacts; 
For,  like  the  kindly  loadstone,  still 

She’s  drawn  herself  by  what  she  attracts. 


IDYL  V. 


THE  VIOLETS. 

1. 

T WENT  not  to  the  Dean’s  unhid, 
For  I’d  not  have  my  mystery, 

From  her  so  delicately  hid, 

Discuss’d  by  gossips  at  their  tea. 

A long,  long  week,  and  not  once  there, 
Had  made  my  spirit  sick  and  faint, 
And  lack-love,  foul  as  love  is  fair, 
Perverted  all  things  to  complaint. 
How  vain  the  world  had  grown  to  be  ! 
How  mean  all  people  and  their  ways, 


86 


The  Violets. 


How  ignorant  their  sympathy, 

And  how  impertinent  their  praise ; 
What  they  for  virtuousness  esteem’d, 

How  far  removed  from  heavenly  right ; 
What  pettiness  their  trouble  seem’d, 

How  undelightful  their  delight; 

To  my  necessity  how  strange 

The  sunshine  and  the  song  of  birds, 
How  dull  the  clouds’  continual  change, 
How  foolishly  content  the  herds  : 

How  unaccountable  the  law 

Which  bade  me  sit  in  blindness  here, 
While  she,  the  sun  by  which  I saw, 

Shed  splendour  in  an  idle  sphere ! 

And  then  I kiss’d  her  stolen  glove. 

And  sigh’d  to  reckon  and  define 
The  modes  of  martyrdom  in  love, 

And  how  far  each  one  might  be  mine : 

I thought  how  love,  whose  vast  estate 
Is  earth  and  air  and  sun  and  sea, 


The  Violets. 


87 


Encounters  oft  the  beggar’s  fate, 

Despised  on  score  of  poverty; 

How  parents’  pride  the  living’s  cause 
To  Death’s  arbitrement  refers, 

Asks  who  some  other’s  husband  was, 

And  so  decides  who  shall  be  her’s ; 

How  Nature,  as  unnatural 

And  contradicting  Nature’s  source, 
Which  is  but  love,  seems  most  of  all 
Well-pleased  to  harry  true  love’s  course; 
How,  many  times,  it  comes  to  pass 
That  trifling  shades  of  temperament, 
Affecting  only  one,  alas, 

Not  love,  but  love’s  success  prevent; 
How  manners  often  falsely  paint 
The  man ; how  passionate  respect, 

Hid  by  itself,  may  bear  the  taint 
Of  coldness  and  a dull  neglect ; 

And  how  a little  outward  dust 
Can  a clear  merit  quite  o’ercloud, 


88 


The  Violets. 


And  make  her  fatally  unjust, 

And  him  desire  a darker  shroud ; 

How  senseless  Opportunity 

Gives  baser  men  the  better  chance ; 

How  all  things,  each  in  its  degree, 

Impose  upon  her  ignorance ; 

How  Heaven,  inscrutable  in  this, 

Lets  the  gross  general  make  or  mar 
The  destiny  of  love,  which  is 
So  tender  and  particular ; 

Say  rather  how  itself  conspires 

With  Man  and  Nature  against  love, 

As  pleased  to  couple  cross  desires, 

And  cross  where  they  themselves  approve. 
W retched  were  life,  if  the  end  were  now  ! 

But  this  gives  tears  to  dry  despair, 

Faith  shall  be  blest,  we  know  not  how. 

And  love  fulfill’d,  we  know  not  where. 
While  thus  I grieved,  and  kiss’d  her  glove. 
My  man  brought  in  her  note  to  say, 


The  Violets. 


89 


Papa  had  bid  her  send  his  love, 

And  hoped  I’d  dine  with  them  next  day : 
They  had  learn’d  and  practised  Purcell’s  glee. 
To  sing  it  by  to-morrow  night. 

The  Postscript  was : Her  sisters  and  she 
Inclosed  some  violets,  blue  and  white : 

She  and  her  sisters  found  them  where 

I wager’d  once  no  violets  grew; 

* 

So  they  had  won  the  gloves.  And  there 
The  violets  lay,  two  white,  one  blue. 


VI. 


THE  DEAN, 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

Frost  in  Harvest. 

F | ^HE  lover  who,  across  a gulf 
Of  ceremony,  views  his  Love, 
And  dares  not  yet  address  herself, 

Pays  worship  to  her  stolen  glove. 
The  gulf  o’erleapt,  the  lover  wed, 

It  happens  oft,  (let  truth  be  told,) 
The  halo  leaves  the  sacred  head, 

Respect  grows  lax,  and  worship  cold, 
And  all  love’s  May-day  promising, 

Like  song  of  birds  before  they  pair, 


94  The  Accompaniments. 

Or  flush  of  flowers  in  boastful  Spring, 
Dies  out,  and  leaves  the  Summer  bare. 
Yet  should  a man,  it  seems  to  me, 
Honour  what  honourable  is, 

For  some  more  honourable  plea 
Than  only  that  it  is  not  his. 

The  gentle  wife,  who  decks  his  board 
And  makes  his  day  to  have  no  night, 
Whose  wishes  wait  upon  her  Lord, 

Who  finds  her  own  in  his  delight, 

Is  she  another  now  than  she 

Who,  mistress  of  her  maiden  charms, 
At  his  wild  prayer,  incredibly 

Committed  them  to  his  proud  arms  ? 
Unless  her  choice  of  him’s  a slur 
Which  makes  her  proper  credit  dim, 
He  never  enough  can  honour  her 

Who  past  all  speech  has  honour’d  him. 


The  Accompaniments. 


95 


II. 

Love  Justified. 

T T THAT  if  my  pole-star  of  respect 
* ’ Be  dim  to  others,  shall  their  “ Nay,” 
Presumably  their  own  defect, 

Invalidate  my  heart’s  strong  “Yea?  ” 
And  can  they  rightly  me  condemn, 

If  I,  with  partial  love,  prefer  ? 

I am  not  more  unjust  to  them, 

But  only  not  unjust  to  her. 

Leave  us  alone ! After  awhile, 

This  pool  of  private  charity 
Shall  change  its  shores  into  an  isle. 

And  roll  a world-embracing  sea 
This  little  germ  of  nuptial  love, 

Which  springs  so  simply  from  the  sod. 
The  root  is,  as  my  Song  shall  prove, 

Of  all  our  love  to  man  and  God. 


q6 


The  Accompaniments. 


III. 

Perfect  Love  rare. 

A /T OST  rare  is  still  most  noble  found, 
Most  noble  still  most  incomplete  : 
Sad  law,  which  leaves  King  Love  uncrown: 
In  this  obscure,  terrestrial  seat ! 

With  bale  more  sweet  than  others’  bliss, 
And  bliss  more  wise  than  others’  bale, 
The  secrets  of  the  world  are  his, 

And  freedom  without  let  or  pale. 

O,  zealous  good,  O,  virtuous  glee. 

Religious,  and  without  alloy, 

O,  privilege  high,  which  none  but  he 
Who  chastely  merits  can  enjoy; 

O,  Love,  who  art  that  fabled  sun 

Which  all  the  world  with  bounty  loads, 
Without  respect  of  realms,  save  one, 

And  gilds  with  double  lustre  Rhodes, 


The  Accompaniments.  97 

Thy  heavenly  splendour  magnifies 
The  least  admixture  of  earth’s  mould, 
Cheapens  thyself  in  thine  own  eyes, 

And  makes  the  foolish  mocker  bold. 


7 


98 


The  Accompaniments. 


IV. 

The  Sentences. 

l. 

|TE  safely  walks  in  darkest  ways, 

Whose  youth  is  lighted  from  above, 
Where,  through  the  senses’  silvery  haze, 
Dawns  the  veil’d  moon  of  nuptial  love. 


2. 

Who  is  the  Happy  Husband  ? He 
Who,  scanning  his  unwedded  life, 
Thanks  Heaven,  with  a conscience  free, 
’Twas  faithful  to  his  future  Wife. 


IDYL  VI. 


THE  DEAN. 


1. 

t I ^HE  Ladies  rose.  I held  the  door, 
And  sigh’d,  as  her  departing  grace 
Assured  me  that  she  always  wore 
A heart  as  happy  as  her  face  ; 

And,  jealous  of  the  winds  that  blew, 

I dreaded,  o’er  the  tasteless  wine, 
What  fortune  momently  might  do 
To  hurt  the  hope  that  she’d  be  mine. 


lOO 


The  Dean. 


2. 

T owards  my  mark  the  Dean’s  talk  set : 

He  praised  my  “ Notes  on  Abury.” 
Read  when  the  Association  met 
At  Sarum ; he  was  glad  to  see 
I had  not  stopp’d,  as  some  men  had, 

At  Wrangler  and  Prize  Poet;  last, 

He  hoped  the  business  was  not  bad 
I came  about : then  the  wine  pass’d. 

3* 

A full  glass  prefaced  my  reply : 

I loved  his  daughter,  Honor : he  knew 
My  estate  and  prospects : might  I try 
To  win  her?  In  his  eyes  tears  grew. 
He  thought  ’twas  that.  I might : he  gave 
His  true  consent,  if  I could  get 
Her  love.  A dea.  good  Girl ! she’d  have 
Only  three  thousand  pounds  as  yet : 


The  Dean. 


101 


More  bye  and  bye.  Yes,  his  goodwill 
Should  go  with  me : he  would  not  stir : 
He  and  my  father  in  old  time  still 
Wish’d  I should  one  day  marry  her  ; 

But  God  so  seldom  lets  us  take 

The  road  we  think  our  best,  when  it  lies 
In  steps  that  either  mar  or  make 
Or  alter  others’  destinies, 

That,  though  his  blessing  and  his  prayer 
Had  help’d,  should  help,  my  suit,  yet  he 
Left  all  to  me,  his  passive  share 
Consent  and  opportunity. 

My  chance,  he  hoped,  was  good : I’d  won 
Some  name  already  ; friends  and  place 
Appear’d  within  my  reach;  but  none 
Her  mind  and  manners  would  not  grace. 
Girls  love  to  see  the  men  in  whom 
They  invest  their  vanities  admired : 
Besides,  where  goodness  is,  there  room 
For  good  to  work  will  be  desired. 


102 


The  Dean. 


’Twas  so  with  one  now  past  away : 

And  what  she  was  at  twenty-two, 

Honor  was  now : and  he  might  say 
Mine  was  a choice  I could  not  rue. 

4- 

He  ceased,  and  gave  his  hand.  He  had  won 
(And  joyful  tears  avouch’d  my  word) 

From  me  the  affection  of  a son, 

Whichever  fortune  Heaven  conferr’d. 
Well,  well,  would  I take  more  wine?  Then  go 
T o her : she  makes  tea  on  the  Lawn 
These  fine  warm  afternoons.  And  so 
We  went  whither  my  soul  was  drawn ; 
And  her  light-hearted  ignorance 
Of  interest  in  our  discourse 
Fill’d  me  with  love,  and  seem’d  to  enhance 
Her  beauty  with  pathetic  force, 

As,  through  the  flowery  mazes  sweet, 
Fronting  the  wind  that  flutter’d  blythe, 


I 


The  Dean.  103 

And  loved  her  shape,  and  made  her  feet 
Bare  to  their  insteps  proud  and  lithe, 

She  approach’d,  all  mildness  and  young  trust; 

And  ever  her  chaste  and  noble  air 
Gave  to  love’s  feast  its  choicest  gust, 

A vague,  faint  augury  of  despair. 


VII. 

.ETNA  AND  THE  MOON. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Queen. 

1. 

f | heroism  and  holiness 
A How  hard  it  is  for  man  to  soar, 

But  how  much  harder  to  be  less  ' 

Than  what  his  mistress  loves  him  for ! 
He  does  with  ease  what  do  he  must, 

Or  lose  her,  and  there’s  nought  debarr’d 
From  him  who’s  call’d  to  meet  her  trust, 
And  credit  her  desired  regard. 

Ah,  wasteful  woman,  she  that  may 
On  her  sweet  self  set  her  own  price, 


io8  The  Accompaniments. 

Knowing  he  cannot  choose  but  pay, 

How  has  she  cheapen’d  paradise ; 

How  given  for  nought  her  priceless  gift, 
How  spoil’d  the  bread  and  spill’d  the  wine. 
Which,  spent  with  due,  respective  thrift, 

Had  made  brutes  men  and  men  divine. 


2. 

0 Queen,  awake  to  thy  renown, 
Require  what  ’tis  our  wealth  to  give. 

And  comprehend  and  wear  the  crown 
Of  thy  despised  prerogative  ! 

1 who  in  manhood’s  name  at  length 
With  glad  songs  come  to  abdicate 

The  gross  regality  of  strength, 

Must  yet  in  this  thy  praise  abate, 

That  through  thine  erring  humbleness 
And  disregard  of  thy  degree, 

Mainly,  has  man  been  so  much  less 
Than  fits  his  fellowship  with  thee. 


The  Accompaniments.  109 

High  thoughts  had  shaped  the  foolish  brow, 
The  coward  had  grasp’d  the  hero’s  sword. 
The  vilest  had  been  great,  hadst  thou, 

Just  to  thyself,  been  worth’s  reward : 

But  lofty  honours  undersold 
Seller  and  buyer  both  disgrace ; 

And  favour  that  makes  folly  bold 
Puts  out  the  light  in  virtue’s  face. 


1 io 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


l. 

npHAIS,  my  heart’s  no  match  for  thine  : 
Waste  not  thy  warmth  on  me;  but  go 
Seek  out  some  chillier  spirit : mine 
Asks  not  another  fire,  but  snow. 


2. 

The  lack  of  lovely  pride  in  her 

Who  strives  to  please,  my  pleasure  numbs ; 
And  still  the  maid  I most  prefer 

Whose  care  to  please  with  pleasing  comes. 


IDYL  VII. 


iETNA  AND  THE  MOON. 


i. 

t I AO  ease  my  heart,  I,  feigning,  seized 

A pen,  and,  showering  tears,  declared 
My  unfeign’d  passion ; sadly  pleased 
Only  to  dream  that  so  I dared. 

Thus  was  the  fervid  truth  confess’d, 

And  love,  the  paradox,  penn’d  the  plea, 
As  wilfully  in  hope  depress’d. 

Yet  bold  beyond  hope’s  warranty: 


112 


JEtna  and  the  Moon. 


2. 

“ O,  more  than  dear,  be  more  than  just, 
“And  do  not  deafly  shut  the  door! 

“ I claim  no  right  to  speak ; I trust 

“ Mercy,  not  right : yet  who  has  more  ? 

“ For,  if  more  love  makes  not  more  fit, 

“ Of  claimants  here  none’s  more  nor  less ; 

“ Since  your  great  worth  does  not  permit 
“ Degrees  in  our  unworthiness. 

“Yet,  if  there’s  aught  that  can  be  done 
“ With  arduous  labour  of  long  years, 

“ By  which  you’ll  say  that  you’ll  be  won, 

“ O tell  me,  and  I’ll  dry  my  tears. 

“Ah,  no ; if  loving  cannot  move, 

“ How  foolishly  must  labour  fail ! 

“ The  use  of  deeds  is  to  show  love : 

“ If  signs  suffice  let  these  avail : 

“Your  name  pronounced  brings  to  my  heart 
“A  feeling  like  the  violet’s  breath. 


JEtna  and  the  Moon. 


1 *3 

“ Which  does  so  much  of  heaven  impart 
“As  makes  me  yearn  with  tears  for  death ; 
“ The  winds  that  in  the  garden  toss 
“ The  Guelder-roses  give  me  pain, 

“Alarm  me  with  the  dread  of  loss, 

“ Exhaust  me  with  the  dream  of  gain ; 

“ I’m  troubled  by  the  clouds  that  move ; 

“ The  breath  shakes  me  when  I respire  • 
“And  ever,  like  a tofch,  my  love, 

“ Thus  agitated,  flames  the  higher ; 

“All’s  hard  that  has  not  you  for  goal; 

“ I scarce  can  move  my  pen  to  write, 

“ For  love  engages  all  my  soul, 

“And  leaves  my  body  void  of  might; 

“ The  wings  of  will  spread  idly  as  do 
“ The  bird’s  that  in  a vacuum  lies ; 

“My  breast,  asleep' with  dreams  of  you, 
“Forgets  to  breathe,  and  bursts  in  sigH; 

“ I see  no  rest  this  side  the  grave, 

“No  rest  or  hope,  from  you  apart; 

8 


ii4 


Mtna  and  the  Moon. 


“Your  life  is  in  the  rose  you  gave, 

“ Its  perfume  suffocates  my  heart; 

“ There’s  no  refreshment  in  the  breeze ; 

“ The  heaven  o’erwhelms  me  with  its  blue 
“ I faint  beside  the  dancing  seas ; 

“ Winds,  skies,  and  waves  are  only  you ; 

“ Where’er  I go,  wandering  forlorn, 

“You  are  the  world’s  love,  life,  and  glee; 
“ O,  wretchedness  not  to  be  borne 

“ If  she  that’s  Love  should  not  love  me !” 

3- 

I could  not  write  another  word, 

Through  pity  for  my  own  distress ; 

And  forth  I went,  untimely  stirr’d 
To  make  my  misery  more  or  less. 

I went  beneath  the  heated  noon, 

Until  I came  where,  simple  and  free, 

She  sat  at  work ; and,  as  the  Moon 
On  JEtna.  smiles,  she  smiled  on  me ; 


JEtna  and  the  Moon.  115 

And  then  grew  pale  and  grave.  No  more. 

The  Dean,  by  ill  or  happy  hap, 

Came  home;  and  Wolf  burst  in  before, 

And  put  his  nose  upon  her  lap. 


VIII. 

SARUM  PLAIN. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

Present  Good  contemned. 

IT OW  long  shall  men  deny  the  flower, 

A Because  its  roots  are  in  the  earth ; 
And  crave  with  tears  from  God  the  dower 
They  have,  and  have  despised  as  dearth ; 
And  scorn  as  low  their  human  lot. 

With  frantic  pride,  too  blind  to  see 
That  standing  on  the  head  makes  not 
Either  for  ease  or  dignity  ? 

But  fools  shall  feel  like  fools  to  find, 

(Too  late  inform’d,)  that  Angels’  mirth 
Is  one  in  cause  and  mode  and  kind 

With  that  which  they  contemn’d  on  earth 


120 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Revelation. 

\ N idle  Poet,  here  and  there, 

^ Looks  round  him,  but,  for  all  the  rest, 
The  world,  unfathomably  fair, 

Is  duller  than  a witling’s  jest. 

Love  wakes  men,  once  a life-time  each ; 

They  lift  their  heavy  lids,  and  look ; 

And,  lo,  what  one  sweet  page  can  teach 
They  read  with  joy,  then  shut  the  book : 
And  some  give  thanks,  and  some  blaspheme. 
And  most  forget ; but,  either  way, 

That  and  the  Child’s  unheeded  dream 
Is  all  the  light  of  all  their  day. 


The  Accompaniments. 


121 


III. 

Love  in  Idleness. 

TT'XCEPT  love’s  toil  has  love  for  prize, 
(And  then  he’s  Hercules, ) above 
All  other  contrarieties 

Is  labour  contrary  to  love. 

No  fault  of  love’s,  but  Nature’s  Laws: 

And  love  in  idleness  lies  quick ; 

For,  as  the  worm  whose  powers  make  pause 
And  swoon,  through  alteration  sick, 

The  soul,  its  wingless  state  dissolved, 

Awaits  its  nuptial  life  complete, 

All  indolently  self-convolved, 

Cocoon’d  in  silken  fancies  sweet. 


122 


The  Accompaniments. 


IV. 

The  Tempest. 

t | AHE  storm-cloud,  whose  portentous  shade 
Fumes  from  a core  of  smother’d  fire. 
His  livery  is,  whose  worship’d  maid 
Denies  herself  to  his  desire. 

Ah,  grief  that  almost  crushes  life, 

To  lie  upon  his  lonely  bed 
And  fancy  her  another’s  wife ! 

His  brain  is  flame,  his  heart  is  lead ; 

Hope  is  despised,  and  death  esteem’d  : 

And  yet  this  tempest  shall  not  blast : 
Incredible  as  late  it  seem’d, 

The  unscarr’d  heavens  grow  clear  at  last. 


The  Accompaniments. 


123 


V. 

Love  in  Tears. 

TF  fate  Love’s  dear  ambition  mar, 

And  load  his  breast  with  hopeless  pain. 
And  seem  to  blot  out  sun  and  star, 

Love,  lost  or  won,  is  countless  gain : 

His  sorrow  boasts  a secret  bliss 
Which  sorrow  of  itself  beguiles, 

And  Love  in  tears  too  noble  is 
For  pity,  save  of  Love  in  smiles. 

But  looking  backward  through  his  tears, 
With  vision  of  maturer  scope, 

How  often  one  dead  joy  appears 
The  platform  of  some  better  hope  ! 

And,  let  us  own,  the  sharpest  smart 
Which  human  patience  may  endure 
Pays  light  for  that  which  leaves  the  heart 
More  generous,  dignified,  and  pure. 


124 


The  Accompaniments. 


VI. 

The  Sentences. 

# 

l. 

T’LL  speak  the  truth,  (it  will  not  blast !) 

”*■  In  tenderest  love-strains  most  we  hear 
The  dubious  chords,  which,  while  they  last, 
Deject  love’s  very  life  with  fear. 


2. 

T o me,  who  make  of  love  my  boast. 

Be  this  sad  word  by  love  forgiven. 
Strange  times  there  are  when  love’s  almost 
As  joyless  as  the  hope  of  heaven. 


IDYL  VIII. 


SARUM  PLAIN. 


1. 

T)REAKFAST  enjoy’d,  with  hush  of 
boughs 

And  perfumes  thro’  the  windows  blown  ; 
Brief  worship  done,  which  still  endows 
The  day  with  beauty  not  its  own; 

With  intervening  rest,  that  paints 

Each  act  with  honour,  and  makes  lives  calm 
As  old  processions  of  the  Saints, 

At  every  step  a wand  of  palm ; 


Sarum  Plain. 


1 26 

Then  light  shawls  donn’d  with  help,  we  drove 
To  Wilton;  there  discuss’d  again, 

Till  all  at  last  agreed  to  approve 

The  Lombard  church;  then,  ’tward  the  Plain, 
We  past  my  house  (remark’d  with  praise 
By  the  others,  and  she  acquiesced) ; 

And,  leaving  the  old  and  lazy  greys 
Below  the  hill,  we  walk’d  the  rest. 

2. 

The  moods  of  love  are  like  the  wind; 

And  none  knows  whence  or  why  they  rise 
I ne’er  before  felt  heart  and  mind 
So  much  affected  through  mine  eyes. 

How  cognate  with  the  flatter’d  air, 

How  native  to  the  earth  her  throne, 

She  moved ; how  feeling  and  how  fair 
For  other’s  pleasure  and  her  own: 

And,  ah,  the  heaven  of  her  face  : 

How,  when  she  laugh’d,  I seem’d  to  see 


Sarurn  Plain.  127 

The  gladness  of  the  primal  grace, 

And  how,  when  grave,  its  dignity  ! 

Of  all  she  was,  the  least  not  less 
Delighted  the  devoted  eye. 

No  fold  or  fashion  of  her  dress 
Her  dearness  did  not  sanctify : 

Better  it  seem’d  as  now  to  walk, 

And  humbly  by  her  gentle  side 
To  observe  her  smile  and  hear  her  talk, 

Than  call  the  world’s  next  best  my  bride. 

I could  not  else  than  grieve.  What  cause  ? 

Was  I not  blest,  was  she  not  there, 

Likely  my  own  ? Ah,  that  it  was  : 

How  like  seem’d  ‘ likely  ’ to  despair  ! 

3- 

And  yet  to  see  her  so  benign, 

So  amiable  and  womanly, 

In  every  Christian  kindness  mine. 

And  full  of  maiden  courtesy. 


128 


Sarum  Plain. 


Was  pleasure  so  without  alloy, 

Such  unreproved,  sufficient  bliss, 

I almost  wish’d,  the  while,  that  joy 
Might  never  further  go  than  this. 

I feign’d  her  won  : the  mind  finite, 

Puzzled  and  fagg’d  by  stress  and  strain 
To  comprehend  the  whole  delight, 

Made  bliss  more  hard  to  bear  than  pain : 
All  good,  save  power  to  taste,  so  summ’d 
And  grasp’d,  it  smote  me  like  a knife 
That  sin  had  narrow’d,  dull’d  and  numb’d 
The  senses  to  the  feast  of  life ; 

That  passing  good  breathes  sweetest  breath ; 

And  love  itself  at  highest  reveals 
More  black  than  bright,  commending  death. 
By  teaching  how  much  life  conceals. 

4- 

But  happier  passions  these  subdued. 

When  from  the  close  and  sultry  lane, 


Sarum  Plain. 


129 


With  eyes  made  bright  by  what  they  view’d, 
We  emerged  upon  the  mounded  Plain. 

As  to  the  breeze  a flag  unfurls 

My  spirit  expanded,  sweetly  embraced 
By  those  same  gusts  which  shook  her  curls 
And  vex’d  the  ribbon  at  her  waist. 

To  the  future  cast  I future  cares; 

Breathed  with  a heart  unfreighted,  free, 
And  laugh’d  at  the  presumptuous  airs 
That  with  her  muslins  folded  me ; 

Till,  one  vague  rack  along  my  sky, 

The  thought  that  she  might  ne’er  be  mine. 
Lay  half  forgotten  by  the  eye 

So  feasted  with  the  Sun’s  warm  shine. 

S- 

By  the  great  stones  we  chose  our  ground 
For  shade ; and  there,  in  converse  sweet, 
Took  luncheon.  On  a little  mound 
Sat  the  three  ladies : at  their  feet, 


9 


i3° 


Sarum  Plain. 


I sat;  and  smelt  the  heathy  smell, 

Pluck’d  hare-bells,  turn’d  the  telescope 
To  the  country  round.  My  life  went  well, 
That  hour,  without  the  wheels  of  hope : 
And  I despised  the  Druid  rocks 

That  scowl’d  their  chill  gloom  from  above, 
Like  churls  whose  stolid  wisdom  mocks 
The  lightness  of  immortal  love. 


IX. 


THE  RAILWAY. 


• -i 


The  Accompaniments. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 

I. 

The  Miscreant. 

f \ MAN,  (and  Legion  is  thy  name,) 
^ Who  hadst  for  dowry  with  thy  wife 
A conduct  void  of  outward  blame. 

The  beauty  of  a loyal  life, 

Is  nature  in  thee  too  spiritless, 

Ignoble,  impotent,  and  dead, 

To  prize  her  love  and  loveliness 

The  more  for  being  thy  daily  bread  ? 
And  art  thou  one  of  that  vile  crew  . 
Which  see  no  splendour  in  the  sun, 


3 34  The  Accompaniments. 

Praising  alone  the  good  that’s  new, 

Or  over,  or  not  yet  begun  ? 

And  has  it  dawn’d  on  thy  dull  wits 
That  love  warms  many  as  soft  a nest, 
And,  though  swathed  round  with  benefits, 
Thou  art  not  singularly  blest ; 

And  fail  thy  thanks  for  gifts  divine, 

The  common  food  of  many  a heart, 
Because  they  are  not  only  thine  ? 

Beware  lest  in  the  end  thou  art 
Cast  like  a goat  forth  from  the  fold, 

Too  proud  to  feel  the  common  grace 
Of  blissful  myriads  who  behold 
For  evermore  the  Father’s  face. 


The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

The  Wife's  Tragedy. 

T\  /T AN  must  be  pleased ; but  him  to  please 
A.  JL  js  woman’s  pleasure : down  the  gulf 
Of  his  condoled  necessities 

She  casts  her  best,  she  flings  herself: 

How  often  flings  for  nought ! and  yokes 
Her  heart  to  an  icicle  or  whim, 

Whose  each  impatient  word  provokes 
Another,  not  from  her,  but  him ; 

While  she,  too  gentle  even  to  force 
His  penitence  by  kind  replies, 

Waits  by,  expecting  his  remorse, 

With  pardon  in  her  pitying  eyes : 

And  if  he  at  last,  by  shame  oppress’d, 

A comfortable  word  confers, 


136 


The  Accompaniments. 


She  leans  and  weeps  against  his  breast. 

And  seems  to  think  the  sin  was  hers : 

And  while  his  love  has  any  life, 

Or  any  eye  to  see  her  charms, 

At  any  time,  she’s  still  his  wife. 

Dearly  devoted  to  his  arms. 

She  loves  with  love  that  cannot  tire ; 

And  if,  ah  woe,  she  loves  alone. 

Through  passionate  duty  love  flames  higher, 
As  grass  grows  taller  round  a stone. 


The  Accompaniments , 


137 


III. 

The  Sentences. 

1. 

TT'EMALE  and  male  God  made  the  Man 
His  Image  is  the  whole,  not  half; 

And,  in  our  love,  we  dimly  scan 

The  love  which  is  between  Himself. 

2. 

Lo,  there,  whence  love,  life,  light  are  pour’d, 
Veil’d  with  impenetrable  rays, 

Amidst  the  presence  of  the  Lord 

Coequal  Wisdom  laughs  and  plays,* 


* Prov.  viii.  22-30. 


138  The  Accompaniments. 


3* 

Few  hear  my  song:  it  soars  above 
The  subtlest  senses  of  the  swarm 
Of  wretched  things  which  know  not  love, 
Their  Psyche  still  a wingless  worm. 


IDYL  IX. 


THE  RAILWAY 


1. 

T STOOD  by  Honor  and  the  Dean, 
They  seated  in  the  London  T rain  : 
A month  from  her  ! yet  this  had  been, 
Ere  now,  without  such  bitter  pain. 
But  neighbourhood  makes  parting  light, 
And  distance  remedy  has  none : 

She  near,  I,  grateful,  felt  as  might 
A blind  man  sitting  in  the  sun  : 

She  near,  all  for  the  time  was  well ; 
Hope’s  self,  when  we  were  far  apart, 


140 


The  Railway. 


With  lonely  feeling,  like  the  smell 

Of  heath  on  mountains,  fill’d  my  heart 
T o see  her  was  delight’s  full  scope ; 

And  her  kind  smile,  so  clear  of  care, 
That  day,  though  darkening  all  my  hope 
Gilded  the  cloud  of  my  despair. 

2. 

She  had  forgot  to  bring  a book  : 

I lent  one ; blamed  the  print  for  old  ; 
And  did  not  tell  her  that  she  took 
A Tasso  worth  its  weight  in  gold. 

I hoped  she’d  lose  it ; for  my  love 
Was  grown  so  dainty,  high,  and  nice, 
It  prized  no  luxury  above 

The  sense  of  fruitless  sacrifice. 

3- 

The  T rain  stirr’d ; with  it,  all  my  worth 
My  spirits  fled  in  fear  to  mine  eyes, 


The  Railway.  141 

As  in  Peru,  if  moves  the  Earth, 

The  people  hurry  out  with  cries. 

I bade  her  adieu,  shook  hands  with  the  Dean, 
Ask’d  him  arriv’d  to  write ; forth  roll’d ; 

A bitter  tear  or  two  unseen, 

She  reading  Tasso ; then  the  bell  toll’d ; 

And,  with  a shock  and  shriek  like  death, 
Link  catching  link,  the  long  array, 

With  ponderous  pulse  and  fiery  breath, 

Proud  of  its  burthen,  swept  away ; 

And  through  the  lingering  crowd  I broke ; 
Sought  the  church-tower,  and  thence,  heart- 
sick. 

Beheld,  far  off,  the  little  smoke 

Along  the  landscape  kindling  quick. 

4- 

What  should  I do,  where  should  I go, 

Now  she  was  gone,  my  Love ! for  mine 

She  was,  whatever  here  below 

Cross’d  or  usurp’d  my  right  divine. 


142 


The  Railway. 


Life  without  her  was  vain  and  gross ; 

The  glory  from  the  world  was  gone; 
And  on  the  gardens  of  the  Close 
As  on  Saharah  shone  the  sun. 

Oppress’d  with  her  departed  grace, 

My  thoughts  on  ill  surmises  fed : 

The  harmful  influence  of  the  place 

She  went  to,  fill’d  my  soul  with  dread. 
She,  mixing  with  the  people  there, 

Might  come  back  alter’d,  having  caught 
The  foolish,  fashionable  air  . 

Of  knowing  all,  and  feeling  naught. 

Or,  giddy  with  her  beauty’s  praise, 

She’d  scorn  our  simple  country  life, 

Its  wholesome  nights  and  tranquil  days, 
No  longer  fit  to  be  my  wife. 

“To  be  my  wife,”  oh,  tenderest  word  ! 

How  oft,  as  fearful  she  might  hear, 
Whispering  that  name  of  “ wife,”  I heard 
Therein  the  love-song  of  the  sphere. 


The  Railway. 


H3 


5- 

I found  the  Book  she  had  used,  and  stay’d 
For  Evening  Prayers ; in  grief’s  despite 
Felt  grief  assuaged ; then  homeward  stray’d, 
Weary  beforehand  of  the  night. 

The  blackbird,  in  the  shadowy  wood, 

Talk’d  to  himself;  and  eastward  grew 
In  heaven  the  symbol  of  my  mood, 

Where  one  bright  star  engross’d  the  blue. 


X. 

GOING  TO  CHURCH. 


10 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Gracious  Chivalry. 

"J^  yT AY  these  my  songs  inaugurate 
The  day  of  a new  chivalry 
Which  shall  not  feel  the  mortal  fate' 

Of  fashion,  chance,  or  phantasy. 

The  ditties  of  the  knightly  time, 

The  deep-conceiving  dreams  of  youth, 
With  sweet  corroboration  chime, 

And  I believe  that  love’s  the  truth. 

I do  and  ever  shall  profess 
That  I more  tenderly  revere 
A woman  in  her  gentleness 

Than  all  things  else  I love  or  fear ; 


148 


The  Accompaniments. 


And  these  glad  songs  are  good  to  prove 
To  loyal  hearts  convincingly, 

That  he  who’s  orthodox  in  love 
Can  hold  no  kind  of  heresy. 

Long  lease  of  his  low  mind  befall 
The  man  who,  in  his  wilful  gust, 
Makes  waste  for  one,  to  others  all 
Discourteous,  frigid,  and  unjust ! 
Untrue  to  love  and  ladies  he 

Who,  scarf  on  arm  and  spear  in  rest, 
Assail’d  the  world  with  proof  that  she, 
Being  his,  was  also  nature’s  best. 

That  chivalry  do  I proclaim 

Alone  substantial,  wise,  and  good, 
Which  scorns  to  help  one  woman’s  fame 
With  treason  against  all  womanhood. 
Each  maid,  (albeit  to  me  my  own 
Appears  and  is  past  others  rare,) 
When  aptness  makes  her  beauty  known, 
May  seem  as  singularly  fair  ; 


The  Accompaniments. 


149 


And  each  is  justly  most  desired ; 

And  no  true  Knight  will  care  to  prove 
That  there  is  more  of  what’s  admired 
In  his  than  in  another’s  love. 


i5°  The  Accompaniments. 


II. 

Love  Liberal. 

HENEVER  I come  where  women 


“ How  sad  soe’er  I was  before, 

“ Though  like  a ship  frost-bound  and  far 
“ Withheld  in  ice  from  the  ocean’s  roar, 
“ Third-winter’d  in  that  dreadful  dock, 

“ With  stiffen’d  cordage,  sails  decay’d, 

“ And  crew  that  care  for  calm  and  shock 
“ Alike,  too  dull  to  be  dismay’d  ; 

“ Though  spirited  like  that  speedless  bark, 
‘4  My  cold  affections  like  the  crew, 

“ My  present  drear,  my  future  dark, 

“ The  past  too  happy  to  be  true ; 

“ Yet  if  I come  where  women  are, 

“ How  sad  soever  I was  before, 


are, 


The  Accompaniments.  151 

“ Then  is  my  sadness  banish’d  far, 

“ And  I am  like  that  ship  no  more ; 

“ Or  like  that  ship  if  the  ice-field  splits, 

“ Burst  by  the  sudden  polar  Spring, 

“ And  all  thank  God  with  their  warmed  wits, 
“ And  kiss  each  other  and  dance  and  sing, 
“ And  hoist  fresh  sails  that  make  the  breeze 
“ Blow  them  along  the  liquid  sea, 

“From  the  homeless  N orth  where  life  did  freeze, 
“ Into  the  haven  where  they  would  be.” 

So  thought  the  melancholy  boy, 

Whose  love-sick  mind,  misreading  fate. 
Scarce  hoped  that  any  Queen  of  Joy 
Could  ever  stoop  to  be  his  mate. 

Thus  thinks  the  man,  who  deems,  (tho’  life 
Has  long  been  crown’d  with  youth’s  desire,) 
That  he  who  has  his  Love  to  wife 

Has  all  that  heart  may  well  require : — 
Though  bonded  unto  one,  my  best, 

My  faith  to  whom  is  pleasure  and  ease. 


i52 


The  Accompaniments. 


Shall  I despise  or  shun  the  rest 

Of  nature’s  queens  and  priestesses  ? 
Rather  by  loving  one  I learn 
To  love  her  like,  who  still  recall 
My  nuptial  pale,  and  teach  in  turn 
That  faith  to  one  is  debt  to  all : 

For  I’m  not  of  so  dull  a wit 

As  not  to  know  that  what  I admire 
And  the  sweet  joy  of  loving  it 

W ould  both  be  slain  by  false  desire ; 
Therefore,  though  singly  her’s  till  death, 
(And  after,  I hope,)  with  all  I’m  free, 
Inhaling  love’s  delighted  breath 
In  the  bright  air  of  chastity. 


The  Accompaniments. 


*53 


III. 

The  Sentences. 

1. 

T T 7E  fast,  give  alms,  pray,  weep,  and  wake, 
* " And  wear  our  hearts  out,  o’er  the  W ord  : 
Ah,  less  of  this,  and  let  us  make 
More  melody  unto  the  Lord ! 

2. 

Happy,  if  on  the  tempest’s  gloom 
Thou  seest  the  covenant  of  God ; 

But  far,  far  happier  he  on  whom 
The  kiss  works  better  than  the  rod. 


154 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

O,  too  absurd  for  pity  or  blame, 

Prostrate,  our  backs  against  the  Sun, 
We  mourn  the  shadow  of  our  shame, 
When  getting  up  would  make  it  none. 


IDYL  X. 


GOING  TO  CHURCH. 

1. 

T WOKE  at  three ; for  I was  bid 
To  breakfast  with  the  Dean  at  nine, 

And  take  his  girls  to  Church.  I slid 
My  curtain,  found  the  season  fine, 

And  could  not  rest,  so  rose.  The  air 
Was  dark  and  sharp;  the  roosted  birds 
Cheep’d,  “ Here  am  I,  Sweet ; are  you  there  V 
On  Avon’s  misty  flats  the  herds 
Expected,  comfortless,  the  day, 

Which  slowly  fired  the  clouds  above ; 


156 


Going  to  Church. 


The  cock  scream’d,  somewhere  fai  away; 

In  sleep  the  matrimonial  dove 
Was  brooding:  no  wind  waked  the  wood. 
Nor  moved  the  midnight  marish  damps. 
Nor  thrill’d  the  poplar  ; quiet  stood 
The  chestnut  with  its  thousand  lamps; 
The  moon  shone  yet,  but  weak  and  drear, 
And  seem’d  to  watch,  with  bated  breath, 
The  landscape,  all  made  sharp  and  clear 
By  stillness,  as  a face  by  death. 

2. 

My  prayers  for  her  being  done,  I took 
Occasion  by  the  quiet  hour 
To  find  and  know,  by  Rule  and  Book, 

The  rights  of  love’s  beloved  power. 

• 

3- 

Fronting  the  question  without  ruth, 

Not  ignorant  that  evermore, 


Going  to  Church. 


1 57 


If  men  will  stoop  to  kiss  the  Truth, 

She  lifts  them  higher  than  before, 

I from  above  such  light  required 
As  now  should  once  for  all  destroy 
The  folly  which  at  times  desired 
A sanction  for  so  great  a joy. 

4- 

Thenceforth,  and  through  that  prayer,  I trod 
A path  with  no  suspicions  dim ; 

I loved  her  in  the  name  of  God, 

And  for  the  ray  she  was  of  Him ; 

I ought  to  admire  much  more,  not  less : 

Her  beauty  was  a godly  grace  : 

The  mystery  of  loveliness, 

Which  made  an  altar  of  her  face, 

Was  not  of  the  flesh,  though  that  was  fair, 
But  a most  pure  and  lambent  light, 
Without  a name,  by  which  the  rare 
And  virtuous  spirit  flamed  to  sight. 


158  Going  to  Church. 

If  oft,  in  love,  effect  lack’d  cause, 

And  cause  effect,  ’twere  vain  to  soar 
Reasons  to  seek  for  that  which  was 
Reason  itself,  or  something  more. 

My  joy  was  no  idolatry 

Upon  the  ends  of  the  vile  earth  bent. 
For  when  I loved  her  most  then  I 

Most  yearn’d  for  more  divine  content, 
And  felt  her  charms,  less  what  they  were, 
Than  what  foretold,  not  slow  to  infer 
How  loving  and  how  lovely  fair 
Must  He  be  who  had  fashion’d  her. 
That  other  doubt,  which,  like  a ghost 
At  all  love’s  banquets  haunted  me, 
Was  thus  resolv’d:  Him  loved  I most, 
But  her  I loved  most  sensibly  : 

Lastly,  I knew  my  hope  unblamed 
By  any  soil  of  sensual  smirch  ; 

And  forth  I went,  no  whit  ashamed 
T o take  my  passion  into  Church ; 


Going  to  Church.  159 

Grateful  and  glad  to  think  that  all 
Such  cogitations  would  seem  vain 
To  her,  whose  nature’s  lighter  fall 

Made  no  divorce  ’twixt  heart  and  brain. 

5- 

I found  them,  with  exactest  grace 

And  fresh  as  Spring  for  Spring  attired ; 
And,  by  the  radiance  in  her  face, 

I saw  she  felt  she  was  admired  ; 

And,  through  the  common  luck  of  love, 

A moment’s  fortunate  delay, 

To  fit  the  little  lilac  glove, 

Gave  me  her  arm ; and  I and  they 
(They  true  to  this  and  every  hour, 

As  if  attended  on  by  Time), 

Went  into  Church  while  yet  the  tower 
Was  warbling  with  the  finish’d  chime. 

6. 

Her  soft  song,  singularly  heard 

Beside  me,  in  the  Psalms,  withstood. 


160  Going  to  Church. 

The  roar  of  voices,  like  a bird 
Sole  singing  in  a windy  wood ; 

And,  when  we  knelt,  she  seem’d  to  be 
An  angel  teaching  me  to  pray ; 

And  all  through  the  sweet  Liturgy 
My  spirit  rejoiced  without  allay, 

Being  for  once  borne  clearly  above 
All  banks  and  bars  of  ignorance, 

By  this  bright  spring-tide  of  pure  love, 

And  floated  in  a free  expanse, 

Whence  it  could  see  from  side  to  side, 

The  obscurity  from  every  part 
Winnow’d  away  and  purified 
By  the  vibrations  of  my  heart. 

7* 

The  Dean’s  Text,  (oft  it  happens  thus,) 
Most  apt  to  what  my  thoughts  employ’d. 
Was  Paul’s  word  to  those,  infamous, 

Of  natural  affection  void. 


Going  to  Church.  161 

He  preach’d  but  what  the  conscience  saith 
T o those  blest  few  that  listen  well : 

“No  fruit  can  come  of  that  man’s  faith 
Who  is  to  Nature  infidel. 

God  stands  not  with  Himself  at  strife  : 

His  Work  is  first,  His  Word  is  next: 
Two  sacred  tomes,  one  Book  of  Life ; 

The  comment  this,  and  that  the  text. 

Ill  worship  they  who  drop  the  Creed, 

And  take  their  chance  with  Jew  and  Turk ; 
But  not  so  ill  as  they  who  read 

The  Word,  and  doubt  the  greater  Work.” 


11 


■ 


THE  BALL. 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Daughter  of  Eve. 

1. 

rpHOUGH  woman  be  the  Child  of  Eve, 
Death- wounded  to  the  dear  heart’s  core ; 
Shall  man  for  her  sad  lineage  grieve, 

Man,  suffering  less  and  sinning  more? 

No : he  whose  praises  do  not  pile 
The  measure  of  her  just  desert, 

Impugns  the  logic  of  her  smile, 

Which  gives  the  balm  and  takes  the  hurt. 
For  my  part,  when,  rejoiced,  I trace 
Her  various  worth,  and  how  she  is 


i66 


The  Accompaniments. 


My  most  effectual  means  of  grace, 

And  casket  of  my  worldly  bliss, 

I,  looking  round,  do  nowhere  see 
That  second  good  which  doth  afford 
The  like  compulsion,  urging  me 

With  a pure  mind  to  praise  the  Lord. 


2. 

Her  meek  and  gentle  mood  o’erstept 
Withers  my  love,  that  lightly  scans 
The  rest,  and  does  in  her  accept 

All  her  own  faults,  but  none  of  man’s. 
I have  no  heart  to  judge  her  ill, 

Or  honour  her  fair  station  less, 

Who,  with  a woman’s  errors,  still 
Preserves  a woman’s  gentleness ; 

For  thus  I think,  if  any  I see 

Who  falls  short  of  my  high  desire, 

“ How  admirable  would  she  be, 

Could  she  but  know  how  I admire !” 


The  Accompaniments. 


Or  fails  she,  though  from  blemish  clear, 
T o charm  to  the  full,  ’tis  my  defect ; 
And  so  my  thought,  with  reverent  fear 
To  err  by  doltish  disrespect, 

Imputes  love’s  great  regard,  and  says, 

“ Though  unapparent  ’tis  to  me, 

Be  sure  this  Queen  some  other  sways 
“ With  well  perceiv’d  supremacy.” 

3- 

Behold  the  worst ! Light  from  above 
On  the  blank  ruin  writes  “Forbear: 
“ Her  first  crime  was  unguarded  love, 
“And  all  the  rest  was  mere  despair.” 

4- 

Discrown’d,  dejected,  but  not  lost, 

O,  sad  one,  with  no  more  a name 
Or  place  in  all  the  honour’d  host 
Of  maiden  and  of  matron  fame. 


i68 


The  Accompaniments. 


Grieve  on ; but,  if  thou  grievest  right, 

’Tis  not  that  these  abhor  thy  state, 

Nor  would’st  thou  lower  an  inch  the  height 
Which  makes  thy  casting  down  so  great. 
Good  is  thy  lot  in  its  degree ; 

For  hearts  that  verily  repent. 

Are  burden’d  with  impunity. 

And  comforted  by  chastisement. 

Sweet  patience  sanctify  thy  woes ! 

And  doubt  not  but  our  God  is  just, 
Albeit  unscath’d  thy  traitor  goes, 

And  thou  art  stricken  to  the  dust. 

That  penalty’s  the  best  to  bear 

Which  follows  soonest  on  the  sin ; 

And  guilt’s  a game  where  losers  fare 
Better  than  those  who  seem  to  win. 


The  Accompaniments. 


169 


II. 

The  Sentences. 


1. 

TT'RACTIONS  indefinitely  small 
Of  interests  infinitely  great, 

' Count  in  Love’s  learned  wit  for  all, 
And  have  the  dignity  of  fate. 

2. 

Not  to  unveil  before  the  gaze 
Of  an  imperfect  sympathy, 

In  aught  we  are,  is  the  sweet  praise 
And  the  main  sum  of  modesty. 


The  Accompaniments. 


170 


3- 

Love  blabb’d  of  is  a great  decline ; 

A careless  word  unsanctions  sense ; 

But  he  who  casts  Heaven’s  truth  to  swine 
Consummates  all  incontinence. 


IDYL  XI. 


THE  BALL. 

l. 

\/TY  memory  of  heaven  awakes: 

X ▼ u she’s  not  0f  j-he  earth,  although  her 
light, 

“ As  lantern’d  by  her  body,  makes 
“ A piece  of  it  past  bearing  bright. 

“ So  innocently  proud  and  fair 

“ She  is,  that  Wisdom  sings  for  glee 
“And  Folly  dies,  breathing  one  air 

“ With  such  a bright-cheek’d  chastity ; 
“And  though  her  charms  are  a strong  law 
“ Compelling  all  men  to  admire, 


ll2 


The  Ball. 


“ They  are  so  clad  with  lovely  awe 
“ None  but  the  noble  dares  desire. 

“ He  who  would  seek  to  make  her  his 
“ Will  comprehend  that  souls  of  grace 
“ Own  sweet  repulsion,  and  that  ’tis 
“ The  quality  of  their  embrace 
“To  be  like  the  majestic  reach 
“ Of  coupled  suns,  that,  from  afar, 

“ Mingle  their  mutual  spheres,  while  each 
“ Circles  the  twin  obsequious  star : 

“And  in  the  warmth  of  hand  to  hand, 

“ Of  heart  to  heart,  he’ll  vow  to  note 
“And  reverently  understand 

“ How  the  two  spirits  shine  remote ; 

“And  ne’er  to- numb  fine  honour’s  nerve, 
“Nor  let  sweet  awe  in  passion  melt, 

“Nor  fail  by  courtesies  to  observe 

“ The  space  which  makes  attraction  felt ; 

“ Nor  cease  to  guard  like  life  the  sense 

“ Which  tells  him  that  the  embrace  of  love 


The  Ball. 


*73 


“ Is  o’er  a gulf  of  difference 

“ Love  cannot  sound,  nor  death  remove.” 

2. 

This  learn’d  I,  watching  where  she  danced, 
Native  to  melody  and  light, 

And  now  and  then  toward  me  glanced, 
Pleased,  as  I hoped,  to  please  my  sight. 

3- 

Ah,  love  to  speak  was  impotent, 

Till  music  did  a tongue  confer, 

And  I ne’er  knew  what  music  meant, 

Until  I danced  to  it  with  her. 

Too  proud  of  the  sustaining  power 
Of  my,  till  then,  unblemish’d  joy, 

My  passion,  for  reproof,  that  hour 
Tasted  mortality’s  alloy, 

And  bore  me  down  an  eddying  gulf : 

I wish’d  the  world  might  run  to  wreck, 


*74 


The  Ball. 


So  I but  once  might  fling  myself 
About  her  beautiful  white  neck. 

I ask’d  her,  would  she  waltz,  a dance 
W e hated ; and  I saw  the  rays 
Withdrawn,  which  did  till  then  enhance 
Her  fairness  with  its  thanks  for  praise. 
She’d  dance  the  next  quadrille,  then?  “Yes.” 
“No,”  had  not  fall’n  with  half  the  force. 
She  was  fulfil’d  with  gentleness, 

And  I with  measureless  remorse ; 

And,  ere  I slept,  on  bended  knee 
I own’d  myself,  with  many  a tear, 
Unseasonable,  disorderly, 

And  a deranger  of  love’s  sphere ; 

Gave  thanks  that,  when  we  stumble  and  fall, 
We  hurt  ourselves,  and  not  the  Truth, 
And,  rising,  found  its  brightness  all 
The  brighter  through  the  tears  of  ruth. 


The  Ball. 


175 


4 

Nor  was  my  hope  that  night  made  less, 
Though  order’d,  humbled,  and  reproved: 
Her  farewell  did  her  heart  express 
As  much,  but  not  with  anger,  moved : 
My  grief  had  all  my  soul  betray’d ; 

And,  in  the  night  of  my  despair, 

My  love,  a flower  of  noon  afraid, 

Divulged  its  fulness  unaware. 

I saw  she  saw : and,  O,  sweet  Heaven, 
Could  my  glad  mind  have  credited 
That  influence  had  to  me  been  given 
To  affect  her  so,  I should  have  said 
That,  though  she  from  herself  conceal’d 
Love’s  felt  delight  and  fancied  harm. 
They  made  her  face  the  jousting  field 
Of  joy  and  beautiful  alarm. 


XII. 

THE  ABDICATION. 


12 


THE  ACCOMPANIMENTS. 


I. 

The  Chace. 


1. 

QHE  wearies  with  an  ill  unknown ; 
^ In  sleep  she  sobs  and  seems  to  float, 
A water-lily,  all  alone 

Within  a lonely  castle-moat; 

And  as  the  full-moon,  spectral,  lies 
Within  the  crescent’s  gleaming  arms, 
The  present  shows  her  heedless  eyes 
A future  dim  with  vague  alarms : 

She  sees,  and  yet  she  scarcely  sees ; 

For,  life-in-life  not  yet  begun, 


i8o 


The  Accompaniments. 


Too  many  are  life’s  mysteries 

For  thought  to  fix  ’tward  any  one. 

2. 

She’s  told  that  maidens  are  by  youths 
Extremely  honour’d  and  desired ; 

And  sighs,  “If  those  sweet  tales  be  truths. 
What  bliss  to  be  so  much  admired  ! ” 

The  suitors  come ; she  sees  them  grieve : 
Her  coldness  fills  them  with  despair : 

She’d  pity  if  she  could  believe : 

She’s  sorry  that  she  cannot  care. 

3- 

Who’s  this  that  meets  her  on  her  way  ? 
Comes  he  as  enemy,  or  friend  ; 

Or  both  ? Her  bosom  seems  to  say 
He  cannot  pass,  and  there  an  end. 

Whom  does  he  love  ’?  Does  he  confer 
His  heart  on  worth  that  answers  his  ? 


The  Accompaniments. 

Perhaps  he’s  come  to  worship  her : 

She  fears,  she  hopes,  she  thinks  he  is 

4- 

Advancing  stepless,  quick,  and  still, 

As  in  the  grass  a serpent  glides, 

He  fascinates  her  fluttering  will, 

Then  terrifies  with  dreadful  strides  : 

At  first,  there’s  nothing  to  resist : 

He  fights  with  all  the  forms  of  peace  , 
He  comes  about  her  like  a mist, 

With  subtle,  swift,  unseen  increase ; 
And  then,  unlook’d  for,  strikes  amain 
Some  stroke  that  frightens  her  to  death 
And  grows  all  harmlessness  again, 

Ere  she  can  cry,  or  get  her  breath. 

At  times  she  stops,  and  stands  at  bay ; 

But  he,  in  all  more  strong  than  she, 
Subdues  her  with  his  pale  dismay, 

Or  more  admired  audacity. 


182 


The  Accompaniments. 


5- 

All  people  speak  of  him  with  praise  : 
How  wise  his  talk;  how  sweet  his  tone 
What  manly  worship  in  his  gaze ! 

It  nearly  makes  her  heart  his  own. 
With  what  an  air  he  speaks  her  name : 
His  manner  always  recollects 
Her  sex : and  still  the  woman’s  claim 
Is  taught  its  scope  by  his  respects. 

Her  charms,  perceived  to  prosper  first 
In  his  beloved  advertencies, 

When  in  her  glass  they  are  rehearsed, 
Prove  his  most  powerful  allies. 

6. 

Ah,  whither  shall  a maiden  flee, 

When  a bold  youth  so  swift  pursues, 
And  siege  of  tenderest  courtesy, 

With  hope  perseverant,  still  renews ! 


The  Accompaniments. 


183 


Why  fly  so  fast  ? Her  flatter’d  breast 
Thanks  him  who  finds  her  fair  and  good ; 
She  loves  her  fears ; veil’d  joys  arrest 
The  foolish  terrors  of  her  blood : 

By  secret,  sweet  degrees,  her  heart, 

Vanquish’d,  takes  warmth  from  his  desire . 
She  makes  it  more,  with  bashful  art, 

And  fuels  love’s  late  dreaded  fire. 

7- 

The  gallant  credit  he  accords 
To  all  the  signs  of  good  in  her, 

Redeems  itself ; his  praiseful  words 
What  they  attribute  still  confer. 

Her  heart  is  thrice  as  rich  in  bliss, 

She’s  three  times  gentler  than  before : 

He  gains  a right  to  call  her  his, 

Now  she  through  him  is  so  much  more! 
Ah,  might  he,  when  by  doubts  aggrieved, 
Behold  his  tokens  next  her  breast, 


1S4 


The  Accompaniments . 


At  all  his  words  and  sighs  perceived 
Against  its  blythe  upheaval  press’d. 

But  still  she  flies : should  she  be  won. 

It  must  not  be  believed  or  thought 
She  yields : she’s  chased  to  death,  undone, 
Surprised,  and  violently  caught. 


The  Accompaniments. 


1 Si- 


ll. 

The  Sentences. 


i. 

/ I \0  love  and  want,  ah,  weal  in  woe ; 

•*-  To  love  and  win,  ah,  woe  in  weal ; 
To  feel  so  happy,  and  to  know 

We’re  so  much  happier  than  we  feel ! 


2. 

If  I the  first  have  bravely  worn 
A Lady’s  scarf  for  singing-robe, 
May  I,  for  my  reward,  be  borne 
To  earth  like  Henry  Frauenlob. 


i85 


The  Accompaniments. 


3- 

Pure  preludes  of  effectual  peace 

Breathed  ’mid  the  deafening  din  of  war. 
When  that  and  noisier  songs  decease, 

The  world  will  love  you  more  and  more. 


IDYL  XII. 


THE  ABDICATION. 

1. 

l^ROM  little  signs,  like  little  stars, 

Whose  faint  impression  on  the  sense 
The  very  looking  straight  at  mars, 

Or  only  seen  by  confluence ; 

From  instinct  of  a mutual  thought, 

Whence  sanctity  of  manners  flow’d ; 

From  chance  unconscious,  and  from  what 
Concealment,  overconscious,  show’d ; 

Her  wrist’s  less  weight  upon  my  arm, 

Her  lowlier  mien ; that  match’d  with  this 


i88 


The  Abdication. 


I found,  and  felt  with  strange  alarm, 
I stood  committed  to  my  bliss. 


2. 

I grew  assured,  before  I ask’d, 

That  she’d  be  mine  without  reserve, 

And  in  her  unclaim’d  graces  bask’d, 

At  leisure,  till  the  time  should  serve. 

With  just  enough  of  dread  to  thrill 
The  hope,  and  make  it  trebly  dear; 

Thus  loath  to  speak  the  word  to  kill 
Either  the  hope  or  happy  fear. 

3- 

Till  once,  through  lanes  returning  late, 

Her  laughing  sisters  lagg’d  behind  ; 

And,  ere  we  reach’d  her  father’s  gate, 

We  paused  with  one  presentient  mind; 

And,  in  the  dim  and  perfumed  mist, 

Their  coming  stay’d,  who,  blythe  and  free, 


The  Abdication. 


189 


And  very  women,  loved  to  assist 
A lover’s  opportunity. 

4* 

T wice  rose,  twice  died  my  trembling  word : 
The  faint  and  frail  Cathedral  chimes 
Spake  time  in  music,  and  we  heard 
The  chafers  rustling  in  the  limes. 

Her  dress,  that  touch’d  me  where  I stood ; 

The  warmth  of  her  confided  arm; 

Her  bosom’s  gentle  neighbourhood; 

Her  pleasure  in  her  power  to  charm  ; 

Her  look,  her  love,  her  form,  her  touch, 

The  least  seem’d  most  by  blissful  turn, 
Blissful  but  that  it  pleased  too  much, 

And  taught  the  wayward  soul  to  yearn. 

It  was  as  if  a harp  with  wires 

Was  traversed  by  the  breath  I drew  ; 
And,  oh,  sweet  meeting  of  desires, 

She,  answering,  own’d  that  she  loved  too. 


190 


The  Abdication. 


5- 

So  Honor  was  to  be  my  bride ! 

The  hopeless  heights  of  hope  were  scaled . 
The  summit  won,  I paused  and  sigh’d, 

As  if  success  itself  had  fail’d  : 

Assured  of  this  surpassing  hope, 

(Too  great  to  humble  or  to  hurt 
By  any  measuring  of  its  scope 
With  my  most  utter  non-desert,) 

It  seem’d  as  if  my  lips  approach’d 
To  touch  at  Tantalus’  reward, 

And  rashly  on  Eden  life  encroach’d, 
Half-blinded  by  the  flaming  sword. 

6. 

The  whole  world’s  wealthiest  and  its  best, 

So  fiercely  follow’d,  seem’d,  when  found. 
Poor  in  its  need  to  be  possess’d, 

Poor  from  its  very  want  of  bound. 


The  Abdication. 


191 

By  that  consenting  scared  and  shock’d, 

Such  change  came  o’er  her  mien  and  mood 
That  I felt  startled  and  half-mock’d 
As  winning  what  I had  not  woo’d ; 

And  my  first  motion  was  to  disguise 
My  heart’s  fantastical  annoy, 

Lest  she,  discerning,  should  despise 
Its  small  capacity  for  joy. 

7- 

My  queen  was  crouching  at  my  side, 

By  love  unsceptred  and  brought  low, 

Her  awful  garb  of  maiden  pride 
All  melted  into  tears  like  snow. 

The  mistress  of  my  reverent  thought, 

Whose  praise  was  all  I ask’d  of  fame, 

In  my  close-watch’d  approval  sought 
Protection  as  from  danger  and  blame. 

Her  spirit,  which  I loved  to  invest, 

With  pity  for  my  poor  desert, 


192 


The  Abdication. 


Buried  its  face  within  my  breast, 

Like  a pet  fawn  by  hunters  hurt. 

8. 

Sweet  are  the  flatteries  of  love : 

They  neither  would  nor  do  deceive, 
Albeit  they  lift  our  hearts  above 

All  flatteries  which  our  hearts  believe : 
But  this  of  making  me  her  lord 
Appear’d  such  passionate  excess, 

I almost  wish’d  her  state  restored, 

I almost  wish’d  she  loved  me  less. 

I was  abash’d,  and  look’d  aside 
From  honour  I might  not  refuse, 

Until  I saw  my  shame  was  pride, 

Since  love  in  love  discerns  all  dues, 
And  never  of  lesser  payment  speaks, 

But  loves  to  love  for  love’s  sole  sake, 
And  in  its  object  only  seeks 

That  worth  which  love  itself  can  wake. 


The  Abdication. 


m 


9- 

Of  this  high  truth  intelligent, 

I buried  soon,  in  the  deep  sea 
Of  a most  near  and  dear  content, 

All  pride  and  all  humility : 

So  she  beside  me  sat  her  down, 
Excused  from  dignity  and  care, 
And  I submitted  to  the  crown 

No  choice  was  left  me  but  to  wear. 


l3 


THE  EPILOGUE, 


THE  EPILOGUE. 


1. 

T TIS  “Book  the  First”  so  finish’d,  Vaughan, 
Elated  with  his  partner’s  praise, 
March’d  laughing  up  and  down  the  lawn, 
With  brows  that  seem’d  to  feel  the  bays. 
She  thought  the  Critics  must  admire 

What  seem’d  to  her  such  lovely  rhymes ! 

“ Nay,”  answer’d  he,  with  rising  ire, 

As  boding  “ Blackwood”  and  “ The  Times,” 
“ A bard  may  reckon  his  degree 

“ More  high  the  more  their  welcome’s  foul ; 


198 


The  Epilogue. 


“ For  music’s  mystic  property 

“ Is  to  make  dogs  and  critics  howl. 

“ I’m  not  a chartist  or  a lord; 

“To  strut  on  stilts  is  not  my  use; 

“ And  my  vain  claim  to  their  good  word 
“ Is  nothing  but  a noble  Muse. — 

“ But  we’ll  not  mind  this  modern  curse 
“ Of  petty  printing  wits,  who  class 
“ The  pure  gold  of  a perfect  verse 

“ Below  like  bulk  of  lacquer’d  brass ! ” 
Then,  boasting  Songs  to  come,  he  said 
The  strains  with  which  the  next  began 
Pass’d  all  he’d  written  yet ; and  read 
The  opening  verses.  Thus  they  ran  : 


2. 

“’Tis  so  beyond  conceiving  sweet 
“To  love  and  be  beloved  in  turn, 

“ That  lovers  talk,  whene’er  they  meet, 
“ Only  their  joy  to  teach  and  learn. 


The  Epilogue. 


199 


“ They  tell  how  dearly  they  adore  ; 

“ Will  not  believe  that  they’re  believed  ; 

“ And  tell  the  tidings  o’er  and  o’er, 

“ And  kiss  to  make  their  words  conceived ; 
“ And  then  take  hands  with  sighs’  soft  speech 
“ And  tell  the  same  sweet  tale  again  ; 

“ The  same  sweet  mystery  learn  and  teach ; 

“ And  kiss  and  kiss  to  make  it  plain. 

“ Beloved  tautologies  of  love  ! 

“ Which  ever,  ever  both  repeat ; 

“ Which  never,  never  seem  to  prove 
“ The  point  to  either’s  fond  conceit ; 

“ Because,  indeed, — ” 

3- 

But  here  his  Wife, 

All  praise  till  now,  objected  : “ This,” 

Said  she,  “ you  did  not  take  from  life : 

“ You  should  not  make  the  lady  kiss.” 

The  fault  confess’d  with  light  demur, 

Those  lines  he  promised  to  remove. 


200 


The  Epilogue. 


Fixing  in  colloquy  with  her, 

As  canons  of  their  Court  of  Love : 

“ Like  and  like  chime,  same  and  same  jar : 

“ If  she  to  womanhood  is  true, 

“To  manhood  he,  their  feelings  are 

“ In  difference  match’d,  like  red  and  blue.” 

4- 

Then,  pondering  what  the  difference  was, 

He  ask’d  her  thrice  if  she’d  be  pleased 
T o help  his  Muse  : but  she  grew  cross, 

And  begg’d  that  she  might  not  be  teased. 

“ Well,  till  you  tell  me  freely  why 

“ You  love  me,  you  shall  have  no  kiss; 

“ And  so,  till  dinner-time,  good-bye  ! ” 

Said  he,  sure  to  prevail  by  this. 

She : “ Dearest,  you’ll  not  leave  me  so ! ” 

He : “ Give  the  reasons,  one  and  all.” 

She,  laughing : “ Love,  I do  not  know, 

“ Unless  it  is  that  you’re  so  tall.” 


The  Epilogue. 


201 


On  tiptoe,  then,  she  stood  to  touch 

His  lips  with  her’s,  but  three  times  miss’d, 
And  pouted.  “ Nay,  then,  tell  how  much? ” 
“ How  can  I,  if  you’ll  not  be  kiss’d  ?” 
Baffled,  he  thought  the  difference  o’er ; 

Soon  smiled,  and  said  he  knew  it  well : 
But,  good  World,  Love  shows  Poets  more 
Than  you  deserve  that  they  should  tell. 


END  OF  THE  BETROTHAL. 


* 


3 '.N 


Boston  College  Library 

Chestnut  Hill  67,  Mass. 

Books  may  be  kept  for  two  weeks  unless  a 
shorter  time  is  specified. 

Two  cents  a day  is  charged  for  each  2-week  book 
kept  overtime;  25  cents  a day  for  each  overnight 
book. 

If  you  cannot  find  what  you  want,  inquire  at  the 
delivery  desk  for  assistance. 


